Maeve's Secret: The Truth Behind Supernatural The Musical
by Happygoddess2003
Summary: Maeve has a secret, a pretty cool ability, and the perfect plan to meet her father. What she didn't plan for was what came after. It was supposed to be a one-time thing. So much for planning...
1. Chapter 1

A/N: I own nothing Supernatural. This one's been kicking around in my head for awhile. I hope you enjoy it! I always like hearing from you guys!

PREFACE:

My plan went off without a hitch. " _Supernatural The Musical"_ was born and brought him here. He had no idea how much effort _(Pushing)_ I had to do to make it happen! Convincing _(Pushing)_ Marie that it was her baby, her idea, and that she was the star behind it all, and I was only her tea-toting, note-taking shadow. The amount of energy _(Pushing)_ I had invested had exhausted me, but it was totally worth it, because I met my father. I heard his voice and watched him work. I white-knuckled my clipboard to my chest when he spoke to me directly, asking me if I could show him around. And that was it _(I thought)_.

I just wanted to see him, one time. I knew he wouldn't want me, he couldn't want me – especially with my freakish ability. I knew what he did – he and my Uncle Dean. I knew better than anyone about his life, and his life had no room for me, and that was okay. Just one meeting. Just one look.

The tale I wove to bring him to the show played out before me exactly the way I expected and wanted it to. Except…

… Except I made a mistake. A huge one. I rarely make mistakes, but this one made up for them all. My overinflated ego, while basking in my success, was my downfall. I didn't anticipate they hadn't eaten all day and how hungry they were. We never would have crossed paths again, if I just would have **thought**. I was so used to _Pushing_ thoughts into other people's heads, that I forgot to use my own brain for my own situation.

Their need for burgers and salad was my undoing. The perfect plan _(MY perfect plan)_ unraveled due to bad timing, and the only diner within twenty miles of when they left me. Shit. After all that hard work, we all ended up in the same place at the same time. That was definitely NOT in my plan.

A/N: Hope you like this little nugget! For those of you mathematically inclined, Sam was 17 when he became a dad.


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: I own nothing Supernatural. More notes at end of chapter.

Chapter 2:

 **SAM'S POV:**

Dean and I are sitting, as usual, in the furthest corner of the diner – backs against each wall. It's the perfect vantage point, and I notice her immediately when she comes in the front door. I nudge Dean and nod my head over toward where she's being seated _(In the absolute worst spot possible, vulnerable to any kind of attack. Did she not just learn there are terrible things out in this world just waiting to get their hands on her?)._

She is simultaneously chewing gum, fiddling with the menu, and digging into her backpack _(Her very FULL backpack)_. Without her glasses _(Maybe she changed into contacts?)_ , I still recognize her. I'd just spent three days at her school, some of that time with her directly – Maeve, the "assistant girl" from the play. The understudy for Jody Mills. As far away as she was, I could tell she was crying, but not noticeably. She didn't appear to me to notice even to herself.

I want to go grab her by her tiny shoulders and bring her to our table and sit her between Dean and I, where she will be safe, protected. It's my instinct to keep people safe. Nothing new here. Instead, I continue to study her – looking for clues to why she's so far from school, so late at night. My senses are tingling off the meter.

I shoot Dean a questioning look, but he shrugs and continues his love affair with his burger of the day. He has a smear of ketchup on his chin and looks blissfully oblivious.

"Don't you think this is a little… weird?" I ask. _(Wipe your chin. Wipe your goddamn chin!)_.

He says something. "Swallow your food first," I say, just like I say every time we sit down to eat. _(He's a four year old in so many ways)_. "You've got ketchup on your chin," I add. He smiles his goofy food-filled smile at me and I had to grin. "I know, Sammy, just tryin' to make ya crazy."

"Mission accomplished, dude, like twenty years ago."

"Seriously, though," I press. "How old do you think she is? Fourteen? Fifteen at most. We're at least twenty miles out from where we left her, now here she is alone, carrying a backpack. She should be studying or sleeping or doing whatever girls that age do. And she's crying. Something's up," I said. _(And I'm getting to the bottom of it, right now)._

"She's not crying, Sammy," Dean said, taking a swig off the flask he pulled from his jacket.

I did a double-take to be sure. No – he was wrong. She was silently crying into the tea the waitress has set before her.

"Uh she IS, Dean, and that's off. This whole thing is off and weird. I'm going over," I said as I stood.

"You'll look like a creeper."

I was agitated by that. _(Why? I probably would)_. "I don't fucking care – it's too late for her to be out alone like this walking to God knows where. _(Maybe she had a secret boyfriend, or maybe she just needed to get away. At night. Twenty miles from where she calls home. Nope – going over.)_

I didn't try to hide that I was bee lining straight to her, but she is so preoccupied. _(I was gonna have a real talk with her about that)._ Her ear buds were in now and she is paying no attention to her surroundings, just like 95% of the people we see every day. She is as oblivious as Dean is eating his burger, but Dean can handle himself plus more. Young girls, especially, have to stay alert – particularly the ones who are _(Travelling? Running away? Whatever the hell she is doing.)_ alone.

SPNSPNSPN

She looks up at me, just as I reach to lightly touch her wrist. Yep, she has lines of tears running down her face and her eyes are red and swollen _(Eat THAT, Dean)_.

I hand her a tissue. Hunter's rule #11 – sadly – "Always carry tissue." If we were there, someone was probably crying. Or dead. Or crying for the dead. Or crying while dying. So always carry tissue.

I smile down at her, scanning what she has strewn about on the table. A phone, notebook _(Closed)_ , teabags, and about ten empty sugar packets. "So you like tea with your sugar?" I say _(So lame.)_

She just looks at me with wet, brown and moss-colored eyes.

"Mind if I sit down, Maeve?" I finally ask, fully intending to regardless of her response.

Again, she said, "Uhhhh…." I suppress a smile.

I know she's sad, upset and… fear? I'm getting a fear vibe off her? Hmm. _(She should be happy. The musical was a hit, the monster was disposed of and all is right in her world. She has nothing to fear. )_ Without waiting for her response, I listen to the nagging voice in my head and sit down at her table.

I reach out again to touch her wrist, this time in comfort. We'd just spent three days together and I liked the girl. She wasn't bossy or full of herself like Marie had been. She was organized, hell, she had a clipboard. Plus, she ran sound just like I had in high school _(Just like me)_. That was pretty cool.

She pulled her hand back, looking down at the tissue instead of at me. _(Now use it)._

"Maeve, relax. Whatever's going on – it's okay. I just want to talk," I said in the nicest starving-man voice I could muster. I had only gotten about two bites of my club before I saw her come into the diner. _(Food - Such a dick thing to be thinking about. Nice job. Hero of the Year.)_

I flagged down her waitress and ask if she would bring my plate over. I **did** want to eat, but I wanted Maeve to see that I meant business and that we were going to have a talk beyond "Uhhh….".

"Have you ordered yet?" I ask, looking over at the lone tea cup in front of her.

"Uhhh… noooo. Not hungry. Just tea," she replied, looking around at anything but me. I know she is a shy girl, one who likes to hang in the background, not looking for a lot of attention. _(Kind of like how I had been back then)._ Well, at least real words are finally coming out of her mouth.

"Tea?" I scoff lightly. "That's not enough. What's your favorite soup?" I ask, leaning forward. _(Why. Did. I. Care?)_

"Curried Moroccan," she immediately replies. I sigh. Of course it is.

I decide to try a different angle. "Okay – what's your favorite DINER soup?" I ask patiently.

"Uhhh… chicken noodle without the noodles," she deadpans at me.

I stare at her. Odd girl. Smart girl. Small. Quiet. But smart. Yet, she hasn't used that tissue I gave her to wipe away the tears that are threatening to spill down her face. In fact, she hasn't used the tissue - at all. It was as if she didn't know she was crying. _(Something is not right here. Very not right. Use that tissue!)_.

Also, apparently, she practically lives on tea. I quickly recount and can't recall her eating anything the whole time Dean and I were at the school.

I clear my throat. "So, broth?" I ask, raising an eyebrow. "Broth is not soup, Maeve. I'm getting you a bowl of chicken noodle and you need to eat the noodles."

She looks at me questioningly. "Why?"

"Because, well, you just do, so do it okay? You're very tiny, you need the carbs," I answer honestly. _(Still – not really my business. Why was I talking to her this way? Why am I telling her to eat her noodles? She could be allergic for all I know. Tea and broth – really?)._

After ordering real soup for her _(And I was tempted to add half a sandwich)_ , I settled back and began slowly eating my chicken club. I didn't try to force conversation – just ate with a hunger that made me fear I look like Dean while doing it. _(Wipe your eyes, damn it! Come on, wipe them.)_

She watches me with a critical curiosity I don't often see. It was familiar, and I search my mind until I realize that she is looking at me the same way I would in this situation. She still held that tissue – and it is starting to make me crazy. Eventually, I set down my sandwich and take it from her. I use it to wipe under her eyes and across her cheeks.

Now I am getting the "you have three heads" look. "What the hell are you doing?" she asks, flinching as I gently brushed the last of the tears away. _(Apparently eating the noodles in the soup has re-activated her vocal cords, so that was good. But she had no need to flinch from me. I took note.)_

And so began this surreal conversation.

"I'm wiping the tears off your face, Mae." _(Did I just nickname her? I think I did.)_

"No you didn't," she replies confidently.

I blink and nod. "Yes, I did. You've been crying since you came though the door."

"Impossible," she insists.

I hold up the wet tissue and place it in her hand.

"Totally and absolutely possible," I state, bringing my voice up just a little while I keep a close eye on her reactions.

I watch her feel that tissue, looking perplexed. Confusion washed over her face. Her eyes are now directly fixed on mine.

I feel a tug of sympathy for her. She's confused or in denial, obviously. "Everyone does, Mae. It's nothing to be embarrassed about or ashamed of. Tell me what's wrong – I promise you'll feel better and we'll help you with whatever it is."

SPNSPNSPN

She reaches out and grabs **my** wrist this time – her tiny hand barely covering the top of mine. I feel … something. More than a touch. It feels like a memory would if it touched your skin, and now it's my turn to turn my eyes intensely on her.

"You don't understand, Sam. I don't cry – it's not something I say to sound tough. I've never cried. Ever," she said in a low voice. "Emotions have never really been my thing, I guess," she adds _. (Unless you count how I'm able to push them like little seeds into other people. Not MAKING someone do anything, but giving them the emotion to guide them to it. Like I did with Marie to make "Supernatural the Musical" to get my dad here.)_

"Well," I say to her, mulling the physical impossibility of what she's telling me, outside of a duct disorder of some type. But, she added **emotions** , meaning there is more involved here than just tears. _(This is crazy. Crazy or something else. Please God, don't let it be something else. Wrong. Something's wrong. She isn't delusional - she is sure of herself. Jesus Christ, MAE is a case!)_

I need to be cool.

I slowly pull my wrist back, reaching for my cup of coffee. I toss a look over at Dean, who glares at me with eyes full of a hundred unanswered questions. _(Yeah, get in line, bro)._

"Okay," I say sipping from my cup while waving to the waitress. She comes right over. "More coffee, sir?"

"Sure – thanks. Can you get her another tea as well? And I think the sugar may need refilled, sorry," I apologize.

"Mae, I understand what you're saying, but it's physically impossible for the human body to never release saline from their eyes due to an emotional reaction of some sort." _(Logic. I'll logic her.)._

"Never," is her one-word response. _(Stubborn little shit, unless she was telling the truth)_. I decide not to tell her there were tears shining in her moss and sunflower eyes as she spoke.

I start to work through it in my head. _(Think like a case. Ask case-related questions)_.

"Okay then, what about when you were a baby? Babies cry all the time. Cry, eat, poop, sleep," I say, smiling at her. "You had to have."

She shakes her head to the negative. "Mom told me I didn't even cry when I got hurt. I mean, it hurt, but I didn't cry about it." She looks down into her lap and mumbles.

"Mae, please don't mumble."

"I said it's not like I don't feel pain. I'm not a freak." _(Freak)_.

I know Dean is standing behind me, taking it all in with a different set of eyes.

She looks at me and I look at her. At the exact same time we say:

"What are you?"

"What are you doing to me? Stop – Stop UNLOCKING me!"

Awkward. ( _What am I doing to her? Unlocking her how? What does that even mean?)_.

Then the waterworks. Big, fat drops slide down her face and slap into her empty soup bowl. _(Shit)._

"Mae, calm down," I say gently. I lean all the way forward and rest my hand on her arm.

"I am calm, I think," she says.

"Sammy…" Dean says with a warning in his voice. He's tapping the back of my chair, silently telling me this isn't my business. I've overthrown the ball. Out-stayed my welcome.

But it IS my business.

This is not a coincidence. Not in the world I live in. I chose to walk over and talk to her _(and feed her, for_ _Christ's sake)_. My instinct tells me she has a secret. One she was either afraid to tell me or wouldn't tell me. She is just a child, really, and she is so wrong. My job is to elicit secrets from people. I try again.

Using a fresh tissue, I wipe her eyes. She doesn't flinch this time. She doesn't say a word.

"Mae, are you afraid of me? Of Dean?" I ask.

Her mouth makes the tiniest of a twitch upward. _(I'm sure she has no clue she did it)_.

"Of course not, Sam, why would I be?" she asks innocently.

I put my hands palm down on the table. They look freakishly large. _(It's not like I'm a freak)_.

"Well for starters, honey, you're oblivious to the fact that you're crying, and that it started AFTER you came in here and sat down. You're also throwing off a vibe that's telling me you ARE afraid, and trust me, I have great instincts." I brought my tone down a little, speaking more firmly to her and pinning her with my eyes. _(My_ _eyes)_. "I'm gonna ask you one more time: What. Are. You?"

She sits there still crying. How? It had easily been an hour. She is reaching down toward her backpack when I hear Dean say "Move very slowly, kid. If that's what you are."

She gave him a look, then seemed surprised. _(I missed it. I'm missing it. Fuck!)_

"Don't look at me like that," Dean says in a low voice. "Just go slow."

Ignoring him, she rummages through her side zippered panel and pulls out a piece of paper – no – a picture. One of those old Polaroid "One Shots" that would spit the picture out immediately and you would wave it around in the air to make it develop faster.

She slides it across the table to me and I can feel my brows furrow. I flip it over and there I am with a girl. We are two seventeen year old kids in bathing suits, my arm slung around her shoulder and are around my waist. Big smiles on both our tan faces, as if nothing could touch us. We were golden, and we were together – in every way. She was a virgin, and I was barely experienced myself, and it was one of the sweetest, most cherished memories I carried with me.

My mind was swirling. I heard more Mae-mumbling and came back to reality.

"If you mumble I can't understand you, Mae. Talk to me," I said, holding the picture tightly. My eyes flipped back and forth between it and the girl sitting in front of me.

"She told me she was three weeks pregnant with me there." She had barely stopped crying.

I tried to speak but she cut me off.

"Wha – what are you do-doing to me?" She brought the tissue to her face. "Why is this happening nn-now? You're making me all – all – FEELY! Emotional," she finally spit out.

She keeps going, keeping me from a response I didn't have anyhow.

"All I wanted was to see you. One time. Is that too much to want? I wanted to hear your voice and – and know for myself who you are with my own eyes, instead of in dream eyes. Just one time," she says dejectedly.

I look at the picture again. Dean had long since grabbed a chair and is staring at it, too. I know what this is. I know what I missed. I have a thousand questions and one definitive answer. I know, like I know my own brown and moss-green eye color. Now I understand my compulsion to walk over, to protect her, to make her eat noodles. To wipe her face without even asking first. I didn't need a DNA test.

"You dreamed about me?" I ask softly, putting my hand on the side of her head and I swore I felt her rest against it.

"Yeah, after mom … died. They started then, but I always knew who you were – she told me everything she could about you. She loved you. She loved me. She was my best friend."

I felt her head shift across my hand as she turned to face me. "My mama's dead!" she wrenched out, promptly bursting into tears. Like, the floodgates opened and there was no closing them.

In a flash, Dean grabbed her bag and I threw some cash on the table. I pulled her to her feet, temporarily lifting her right off the floor. _(She was so light!)._

"Come on, dude, she's making a scene," Dean said by the door.

"Shut up Dean," I hissed.

I put my arm around her, pulling my jacket around her as well so she was tucked under and inside next to me. Dean was right – she was making a scene. She was tipping close to hysterics.

"Okay, okay Mae – you're gonna be okay," I shushed her. Fuck, her whole body was shaking. "Do you want to come with me? I want you with me. You're my daughter and you belong with us. You'll be safe. I'll keep you safe and everything will be okay. I promise. Is that okay with you?" I ask, rushing us over to Baby.

I felt her nod a "yes" into my ribs.

"Okay, then. We'll figure this out."

All I hear in response are her wails. I slide her into the back seat with me and pull her against my chest. _(Could this be the first time she's emotionally processing her mother's death?)_ The thought chilled me. I hear words – "dead", "mama", "why", "auntie", and "one time" were the most frequent. It was mostly just babbling, really.

I tried my best to comfort her. I did a lot of comforting as a hunter – it came with the job just like killing came with the job. But this wasn't a job, this was my girl. I rocked her and murmured everything I could think of to quiet her. I felt my own tears slide down my face. I pulled out the picture of her mom and I out of my pocket and placed it in her hand. I felt her bring it to her chest as her body racked with grief. I have a daughter. I have a lot of work to do.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N:** I own nothing Supernatural. So heyyyy… I forgot to leave you my notes at the end of the last chapter! Without giving too much away – here's the deal: Maeve is absolutely Sam's daughter. She has inherited her rare ability from Sam. She is the opposite of Sam emotionally – he feels emotions deeply, dwelling on them, reasoning through them. Sam is her key - he is somehow opening her to FEEL emotion she has never felt before. She has gotten through mostly by mimicking what she sees around her. She is an emotional hybrid – unable (until now) to feel emotion, but able to "seed" or "push" emotion/inspiration to people to get them to do things. She, herself – can't **make** anyone do anything. But she is smart like her father and knows how to plant the right seeds and follow up on them _(Water them?)_ to get what she wants. For now, hopefully, that's enough to get you through

 **Chapter 3:**

Sam leans against the back door, Maeve making silent hiccupping noises on his chest. His mind is racing _(I'm a dad. I can't be a dad. I AM a dad! I don't know how. I can barely function myself! I don't know how to be a father. I'll fuck it up. I'll fuck HER up. How do I do this? How do I even start? I'm not ready. I'm like, the worst role model ever.)_. A new wave of thoughts assaulted him _(Does anyone know about her? Does Hell? Does Heaven? Something could be tracking her this minute. Get a grip, Winchester.)_. He felt a possessiveness and protectiveness wash over him at the thought of someone or someTHING trying to hurt her. He was pulled from his hurricane of thoughts by another hiccup pushing against him.

"Mae? You awake?" he prodded her gently. He felt her nod. "Okay, then, sit up here so I can grab you a water. It'll help get rid of those hiccups," he said while sliding her next to him and reaching for the cooler.

"Here, take some sips slowly and kind of hold your breath while you do," he said after unscrewing the cap and holding it out to her. He kept his other arm protectively around her shoulders.

She kept her face down, accepted the water and followed his instructions. She took a few deep breathes. No more hiccups. She mumbled her thanks.

"Mae, talk to me. Not **everything** _(there will be time later for that)_ , but tell me what's going on with you right now."

She straightened herself up in the seat and looked at him with blank eyes. "I don't know what's going on with me and I'm sorry for that, ummm, emotional outburst. I,uhhh… don't understand it. I hate it. I'm never doing it again," she stated firmly, sounding every bit as stubborn as both he and her mother. So sure of everything. "How do people deal with … feelings? I won't let that happen again. I just won't."

"It doesn't work like that, honey. You can't control your emotions. Well, you CAN up to a point, but are you telling me you've never felt any emotions"? And now you're starting to?"

"Yeah" she said, nodding. "Mom just taught me how to copy different emotions. Like, when my grandma died, how to look sad. Or when someone told a joke at school, I'd just do whatever they did – I'd "pretend laugh", she said using air quotes. Sam couldn't help but notice how incredibly tiny her hands were. He remembered holding her mother's hand and thinking the same thing. Those memories came back to him in a flash. He remembered her smell – coconut and sand. He smiled at Maeve, nodding for her to continue.

"I started, ummm… feeling stuff right after you left. I was perfectly fine when you were on the case - just the same as I always was. You were never supposed to know. I mean, I was never planning on staying there anyhow – it was just the only way I knew you would come," she said, her voice rising higher as she spoke more rapidly. She looked at him and grabbed his shoulders with strength that betrayed her hand size. "What's going on … why can't I breathe right? Stop DOING this to me!" she squeaked, shaking him. _(I want to go back to the way I was before. I don't like this. I'm afraid. Oh. My. God. I FEEL afraid!)._ "I'm feeling afraid! I don't like this, make it stop! You're my dad, make it stop NOW!" she screeched at him.

Dean tossed a look across his shoulder. "Sammy…" he questioned. "You got that under control back there?"

"Yeah, all good" he said, turning his attention back to Mae. He handed her the water bottle and kept his voice low and calm.

"I want you to drink this slowly. Don't talk and don't try to think. Just drink, can you do that for me?" he asked her calmly.

She took the bottle, but was shaking her head in a baffled, non-committal way. He put his hand on the side of her head _(My daughter's head, holeeey shit)_ , and rubbed his thumb in circles around her temple.

"Just breathe and drink the water. Then we'll try this again, okay?" he encouraged. She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand. "Drink," he insisted.

Listening from the front, Dean was blown away at how naturally calming Sam was with her – how naturally EVERYTHING he was with her, at least on the outside. He was sure his little brother would lose his shit later in private with him. It was all he could do to keep from driving into a tree – one more screech out of that girl _(my niece)_ and his ear buds were going in. Except, he wanted to know everything – this odd girl showing up, who had existed all this time without either one of them aware of the fact. He was willing to suffer some hearing loss in exchange for information. Hell, yeah.

Mae drank the water slowly and felt a little less out of control. She LIKED her control. Without feeling emotion, life was so easy! She didn't know what to do with herself. She was so far out of her element she was in orbit.

"Better?" Sam asked, taking the empty bottle from her replacing it with his hand. She held it tight and nodded.

"Let's just take this slow, sweetheart. Then we're gonna stop for awhile and you'll rest. You said if Marie did the musical you knew we would come. How did you know I would come?" he asked, never breaking eye contact and keeping his voice light.

She shrugged. "Because of the dreams, I knew you were near. I know what you and Dean _(Uncle Dean)_ do – I've always known, and I knew once you got here you would stay and I would get to see you." She shrugged again. "It was a once in a lifetime chance for me to meet you in person. I'm sorry," she choked out.

Sam pulled her over close to him and kissed the top of her head, whispering for her to hush. He could tell she was on the verge again and wanted to keep things as even-keeled as possible. He ran his fingers through her hair and rested his hand again on the side of her head. "I want you to focus on breathing and tell me why you're sorry," he whispered to her.

She breathed slowly and spoke deliberately. "I'm sorry I'm such a freak. I know I have to be a disappointment to you – look at me… I'm no cheerleader. I'm not pretty. And now by some cosmic joke I land in your life when it's the last thing you or I ever wanted. So, I'm sorry," she said, leaning into him as if she were afraid he would disappear.

Sam felt his shoulders tense and forced them to relax. He slid his hand down to her chin and tilted it up to face him. He voice was comforting but his eyes were firm. "You listen. You are NOT a freak; not in a million years would I ever think that or that you would be a disappointment to me. We both are kind of in shock right now, right? But Mae – it's a GOOD shock for me, and I don't care that you only wanted to meet me once. Because now I know you and have you and I will never let anything hurt you for the rest of your life. You're perfect to me. If you truly know what your Uncle Dean and I do, then you know I'm telling you the truth, right?"

She looked down.

"Look at me, I'm talking to you," Sam said in a surprisingly parental voice he didn't even know he had.

When she looked back up, he saw a glimmer of hope in her eyes. "And cheerleaders are overrated. I have a kickass daughter who runs sound, just like I did," he finished quietly.

"Da … I mean, Sam?" she whispered.

"Yep?"

"So tired now."

"Then you sleep, okay? You and me and Uncle Dean will figure this all out, I promise." He rolled his flannel up and put it on his thigh. "Put your head down here and when you wake up we'll be close to home." He laid his arm across her and settled back against the window – feeling like he was exactly where he was supposed to be at this exact time. He dozed off and on about the girl he once loved who smelled like the beach and coconuts.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I own nothing Supernatural. Thanks for all the cool support and for the kind reviews. Hope all of you have a great drama-free year**

Chapter 4:

Mae could hear them talking quietly. There was a blanket tucked in around her and it felt like she was on a couch. She didn't move, not wanting to give away her advantage - she wanted to hear what they were saying. She kept her eyes closed and focused on their voices.

"She needs more help than you can ever give her," Uncle Dean said irritably. "I mean, look at her man, she's a walking emotional time bomb, ready to go off at any moment with some new feeling she's never felt before. Really? How are you handling that?"

I heard my dad _(_ _ **my**_ _ **dad**_ _)_ let out a long breath, but his voice wasn't defeated. "Hey… I'm still wrapping my head around all this – but I know I'll figure it out the same way you would if it were you, right? Like, dude, I'm a DAD. It's like the most terrifyingly awesome thing ever."

She felt an odd warmth inside her _(What is this? Do I have a fever?)_. It was new, but it felt good – not scary or out of control like the other new feelings she was having. She knew she was safe, and for now that was enough, until Uncle Dean spoke again.

"You're in deep over your head, Sammy," he said, sounding like he had a buzz going. "You have no idea what you're in for," he added.

"That's bullshit, Dean – you know, for someone who's gone to the deep end himself more than a few times and made it back, you've got balls judging me. This is your niece and my kid, and I say we move forward," Dad said in a whisper-yell.

Without moving a muscle, I sent out an… image… to Uncle Dean. Just a little one. I used my mind and concentrated on the picture and _pushed_ it toward the right side of his brain … it was he and I in the kitchen, laughing and making breakfast together, happy. We were making my dad his birthday breakfast _. (May 2, 1983 – One of the reasons my mom named me Maeve. It was cool that he nicknamed me Mae, as if he knew mom had done that for a reason.)._

I heard a bottle smash to the floor and Uncle Dean "Holy shit…"

"What? You okay? You hurt? " Dad said sounding worried.

"No, well…yeah…I dunno…. The right side of my head is killing me…"

"Stop with the booze, man. Why don't you hit the rack early? Long day, ya know?" he said. "Here…take these. You know the drill – hell, you CREATED the drill," he said dryly.

"Yeah, maybe I will," Uncle Dean answered. "It just hit so hard. Like … I dunno… an arrow or something…"

"Okay, Wild Bill. See ya in the morning," Dad told him. I heard Uncle Dean clomp away and Dad sweeping up the glass. I still hadn't moved. I had an idea - I knew I was pushing it, but I wanted to know. I had to know.

I sent my dad a seed, pushing just a little, waiting to hear him drop the broom or run for the aspirin. Instead, his mouth was right beside my ear _(God he was so quiet, so fucking fast - how is he so quiet and still so huge?)._

"I know you're awake, Mae. Unbelievable. What in the hell do you think you're doing? I can't believe you just tried that shit - on me? I'm your **father** … AND Dean – you could have given him a stroke. Sit up, it's time to talk." _(Oh man, I'm screwed. He can tell. He can tell exactly what I'm doing. Stupid!)_.

For the first time in my life someone not only knew my secret, but could see and feel how it worked. I didn't like that. I wanted my control back. I didn't want to talk, but then I heard his voice drop a level and say "Sit. Up." I sat up. _(I wasn't used to having a dad – I didn't even really want one… well, maybe I did a little… I felt a scared and kinda sad. I think this might be what feeling ashamed is like.)._

I brought my knees up and curled sideways into the corner of the couch, wishing I could just keep pressing myself into it until I disappeared completely. _(What was I thinking? Now he's gonna wanna talk … about feelings… and have questions I really don't wanna answer… about my life. )._

I stole a glance up at his face – he was hard to read. For the first time in my life I had someone in front of me that was at the very least, my equal. I had no advantage. My heart started racing. I felt a wave of heat crawl up my chest and onto my face. My arms were itching.

"You should be embarrassed," he said, handing me a water he hhad opened for me. "Drink – you look like you're about to self-combust."

"I feel itchy," I said. "Is it normal to feel itchy when you feel embarrassed?" I asked naively.

He immediately got two little lines between his eyebrows. _(Is he angry I'm itchy? OMG this is horrible – life was so much easier before "feelings.")._

I tried to back-peddle. "It's fine. I'm fine. Barely itches anymore," I lied.

The corners of his lips twitched upward just a bit and he leaned his neck back until his face was looking at the ceiling.

"You are absolutely the worst liar I've ever met."

"No…. Sam …Dad…I'm really actually very good at it," I bragged.

He looked back down from the ceiling and his face was solemn. "Well, honey, apparently not with me. It appears I'm immune to you," he said, giving me a stern look.

"I don't get it." _(I really didn't. Immune? As in "I cannot do what I do to others and get away with doing to others" with him? Like, totally immune?)._

I was scratching my arms and my chest was itching as well now.

"Mae, let me see. Come on, now. Arms out. Let me take a look," he said, sounding concerned. I took off my sweater and held my arms out to him, just in my tank and jeans. I had bright red blotches up and down my arms and I could see a red rash crawling up my chest.

He studied me for a few minutes, lifting the bottom of my tank without any hesitation to check my back. I learned then that my dad was a thorough guy and didn't ask for permission when it came to my health.

"You've got hives all over you. Must be a reaction to lying to your father," he said sharply. My hands immediately became so very interesting to look at. I was enthralled by them.

"Dad…" I began.

"No… first we take care of these hives. Have you eaten at all?" he said as an afterthought.

"Uhhh…."

"Oh, come on, really?" he said, exasperated. He pointed his finger at me – "Food is a thing here. We do it. We do it together. We eat and we talk and we don't lie to each other." He pulled me up by my hands _(His hands were ginormous. Crazy huge and strong.)._

"First things first," he said, walking with me to the kitchen where I he sat me in a chair and got out a bag full of medical stuff. It was like a first aid kit on steroids. It had pockets and zippers and was full of pills and all sorts of medicines. He dug through it and came up holding some pills and a tube of something.

He handed me two pills - anti-histamine – and had me take them. He said he would keep an eye on the hives and decide later if I needed a second dose. _(Keep an eye on me? Weird. It'd been years since anyone but I had kept an eye on myself. I was a bundle of nerves on a roller coaster of domino falling feelings… one into the other. And I didn't know any of them! I think I just added "being grateful for a dad" to the embarrassed and ashamed list.)_

"Honey, you don't have to cry," he said gently while smoothing the lotion over my arms and across my back.

I felt up to my eyes and there they were again.

"Do people cry over everything? I hate this!" I muttered.

He smiled at me in spite of the trouble I was in.

"No – people don't. But for now things may be a little mixed up for you, so just go with it. I think it'll balance out over time, and with experience." He washed his hands and came back over to me, holding his hand to the side of my face. "I'll do everything I can to help you figure this out," he said, giving me one of those little packages of tissues. He led me back to where we started in the living room, and I took my former perch. This time he sat next to me, sliding his arm over the back of the couch where we were sitting.

"I'm… I'm so sorry..." I said, putting the tissue up to my leaking eyes.

He peered into my eyes, and I was sure he was checking to see if I was being sincere. "Tell me what you're sorry for… exactly," he said slowly, never breaking eye contact with me.

I took a deep breath. _(This was so much harder than I thought. I'd never had to apologize to anyone before because I'd never been caught!)_

"I'm sorry for trying to push an image to Uncle Dean and hurting his head. I'm sorry for trying to send one to you. _(Boy, was I)._ I promise I'll never do it again," I said, unable to look him in the face any longer.

He was having none of that. "Mae, my eyes are up here."

I dragged my eyes back up to his, and was surprised to see how dark hazel they had become. He reached out and put his hand on my arm _(His hand reached around my whole upper arm! It was nuts.)._ He just held onto it.

"Mae, I'm only telling you this one time. You better hope I never find you doing this to anyone else, especially Uncle Dean. You **can't** do it to me because it won't work on me, because I gave it to you – do you know what I mean? Your ability – whatever it is – came FROM me, so you can't use it ON me… See? Uncle Dean is different. I don't think you can do anything more than what you saw happen. But don't test that theory, because I'm not sure. And it'll piss me off."

I appreciated his honesty.

He put his forehead against mine and said, "Don't you ever, ever do that again, do you understand me? I **will** know, and I will deal with you however I see fit, but please don't make me have to do that, okay?" _(What the heck did that mean?)._

"Tell me what that means," I said, gathering up all my courage.

"It means I'm your dad and if I catch you lying to me or not following a rule I make for your safety, we'll have a problem. It means from now on you'll eat real food and not worry about things that are my things to worry about. All you have to do is listen to what I say and trust me. You do trust me, don't you?" he said evenly.

"More than anything. You're all I ever thought about for years, Dad. I shouldn't have tried to _push_ you and Uncle Dean. I just wanted to see what would happen."

"Well, now you know, right? So no revisiting that shit. I know you know a lot about me and "the life." What I do. I know you told me your mom was open about it. But I want to hear the whole thing. I'll make us something to eat and then we can get started, how does that sound?" He gave me a wink, but I noticed he didn't really ask me, he was just making it sound like a question.

"Come out to the kitchen with me and keep me company. You have to be starving."

My stomach clenched as I followed him, not hungry at all. Not wanting to talk about the past, but knowing I was going to have to one way or the other. He was my dad, and he knew me. He knew me already better than anyone except my mom. In some ways he knew me BETTER than she did, because he and I shared something that he gave me, that she didn't. Mom gave me love, unconditional support, and the ability to make the best tea you ever drank. Dad gave me love and an ability I never understood, but used to my advantage. He also came with a set of rules I was gonna have to learn to live by and a list of consequences if I didn't. I tried to prepare for the talk.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

Back in the living room, we set aside our plates – Sam's totally empty and mine – well, not so much. He pointed at it, saying "That's a conversation for later," and left it at that. _(Thank God. I didn't have the energy to tell him everything we were about to get into AND argue over my eating habits.)._

I waited for my dad to start asking me questions, but he didn't. He watched me carefully, occasionally placing his fingers down the back of my hair – just thinking, I think. I fought the urge to _push_ – _(God it really was a way of life for me. I knew he was gonna make me go cold-turkey to stop, and I couldn't fudge it with him...)_. My dad was smart _(I knew that already)_ \- but I was surprised at how clever he was, too. Pretty good-looking as dad's go, and I was happy I got his dimples and nerdiness. He just waited patiently for the conversation to start organically. _(He seemed like an organic person to me in just about every way, too. I looked toward my future and saw things like raw veggies, quinoa, and kale. The world was truly a scary place.)._

It was as if he had all the time in the world, sitting on the couch with his arm behind me. I guess he did, and I did – after the forever of waiting and wanting and maneuvering to meet him, all of the sudden I had all the time in the world to be with him. It was hard to wrap my head around it all. I also knew I was a Winchester, and that "all the time in the world" could possibly end at any moment.

"Having a hard time not … doing your _pushing thing,_ aren't you _?_ " he asked, giving me a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry, Mae, but the sooner you stop that habit the better. Trust me. Starting right now is the right thing, and remember – I'll know," he added with a small twinkle in his eye.

"It's not a habit, it's a lifestyle,"' I deadpanned.

Then the twinkle was gone. Poof.

"So tell me what you're you thinking, and remember – honesty," he reminded me. "Ask me questions, tell me things… however you like." He settled back into the comfy couch, leaning me next to him.

"I'm thinking it's weird to have time with you like this. This is time I was never supposed to have, Dad. Remember? I was supposed to meet and greet and move on. It's a lot," I answered. "This was never the plan…. I…I…think I'm a lot like you that way. I like my planning and I'm methodical and productive when I make one. This whole things just… it took all my control away."

He nodded, tilting his head. "Move on where?" he asked, and then held up his hand. "No – wait – let's not get ahead of ourselves. Here's the thing, honey. I want you to say whatever you need to me in your own words. I'm not gonna sit here and drill you with a thousand questions – you aren't a case, you're my girl. Just start at the beginning and we'll move through it all, okay?"

"Uhhh…" (Brilliant. I was his bright shining girl of incredible intelligence.). I regrouped. A thought struck me. I knew what I needed.

"Hang on a sec – be right back…" I said, getting up and running to my room. A few minutes later I was in my spot on the couch, photo in hand.

"I guess I just want mom to be here too," I said sadly. "Ya know?" I held the one picture I had of my parents together.

My dad looked down at the tan kids in their bathing suits and brushed his finger across the image. His small smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, Nia," he murmured. He looked at me. "She was special," he said with his eyes glistening.

"She was, dad. And she was a great mom. She never said a bad word about you. She never complained. She didn't ever lie to me," I said.

He held out a tissue, and then just laid the box down on my lap. I brought it up to my eyes and returned it wet. He looked at the way I would look at a wounded and confused animal.

"Mae, hon, you need to go slow with this. Your emotions aren't even fully developed and really, you've barely experienced many of them, so easy does it. That means if I tell you to slow down or to stop, I want you to slow down and stop, understand?" He looked at me, pausing to wait for my confirmation.

"Ummm…. There's more that I have to experience? More feelings?" I squeaked out. "I don't want that. No. Nope," I said in a rush.

He held back a grin and told me it was too late for that.

"You can't put this genie back in the bottle, baby. It's already started, and I honestly can't tell you when it'll be finished; I think we both will just know." He squeezed my shoulder and put his hand on my cheek and it felt so right. This was my dad – right here with me – so I began to talk.

"Mom told me she met you when she was living with her Aunt Clara, after her parents died – do you remember?"

"Of course I do, like it was yesterday," he said. "Your mom's Aunt knew our Uncle Bobby. We were staying with him that summer when she called, worried about some animal attacks close by," he reminisced. Your Great-Aunt knew hunters and was always known to be very kind and generous to any of us in need of food, shelter, or patch ups. She had a huge house and she was so giving. She was highly regarded in our community."

"Right. Mom told me she was living with her when she met you – she told me she fell for you the very first time she saw you – is that true?"

Dad smiled, and I could see his mind tracing back to that day. "Yes, baby, the first time I saw Nia I knew she was someone very special. She wasn't afraid like most of the girls my age would be with what I did. In fact, she knew all about it and accepted it… she accepted me. I didn't have to hide who I was and could just be… me." He looked down into my eyes and said "Your mother was the first girl I ever met who understood what I did and accepted me unconditionally. She was a gift. And God, she was beautiful, Mae." He reached out and ran his hand through my hair. "You look just like her. _(I knew I didn't, I mean, mom really was beautiful. Long dark hair falling in waves down her back, dark brown skin and eyes with long lashes – so NOT me."_ But I let him give me that compliment, and for all I know that was what he saw when he looked at me. That made me happy. I could FEEL warmth in my chest, swelling at that thought. Odd.

I clutched the tissue box to my chest like a talisman _. (If I held this box I would be okay. That made no sense.)._ I continued.

"Mama said you both knew it would only be three or four weeks at the most to find the vamps causing all the chaos, but that you spent every minute you could together, talking about your future, your dreams, and having lots of sex."

At this Dad burst out laughing and said "She did not say that to you." I looked at him indignantly. "Of course she did! She was very open with me and answered any question I had – of course I was curious about how, you know, I was created. Are you calling me a liar?" I suddenly felt a wave of heat crawl up my chest, to my face, and I threw the tissue box at him. _(OMG I just threw the tissue box at him. Overreact much?)._ I waited for it to connect with his face.

He caught it in mid-air.

"Woah, there – relax, Mae. No need to get all throw-y at me," he said in a firm tone.

"You're calling me a liar! You don't think I'm telling you the truth! Well I am! I am! My mom told me everything and just because you don't like it doesn't mean I'm lying!" My voice had reached a high-pitched decibel that I'm sure was calling out to every dog in the tri-state area. _(What the hell is wrong with me? What am I doing?)_. I raised my hand in a little fist and pulled it back, intent on hitting him right in the nose for that.

He caught my wrist easily and lowered it into my lap and covered both with his one hand. "Mae – this anger you're feeling, it's one of those emotions we were talking about. Honey, I wasn't calling you a liar. It was just a figure of speech. You can't fly off the handle at every misinterpretation you come across, do you hear me?" Again, he waited for my response.

My eyes were leaking, not from sadness this time. "But… but… you said…" I began.

"Stop, shush," he admonished me. "I did nothing of the kind. I made a comment out of surprise and it was meant as more of a "No way she did not!" way – not a "You're a liar" way… do you see the difference? Hmmm?" He turned my face so I had to look him in those eyes that looked right through me and kept his hand on my cheek. I lowered my eyes and felt completely confused.

"I guess… I dunno! I don't like this, Sam. I don't like having to figure out what people mean when they talk to me … why can't people just say exactly what they mean? I hate this" I wheezed out.

"Shhhh, shush, you're okay. Mae, you're fine. Just breathe and relax your shoulders. There ya go… better…. Now take a sip." Water was at my mouth and I took the bottle and drank it down like a woman on a desert _. (I was, I was on a desert and I was dying of thirst.)._

"I hate this," I repeated.''

"I know, I get it – we'll get through this, I promise" he said calmly. "Now – let's get back to filling me in, okay? The sooner you do, the sooner I can… figure us out," he continued. He settled back down, keeping the tissue box on HIS lap this time. I felt his arm resting behind me, and it somehow centered me. I could actually feel myself relaxing, coming down from that burst of anger I'd never experienced before.

I took a breath and pushed on, trying to remember specifics from so long ago. "Ummm…" I began.

"You say "Ummm" a lot, did you know that?"

He dimpled me and gave me a wink.

 _(GAAAH!)_ "I know I do. It's a thing with me. Anyhow," I said, giving him my "shut up" look, which probably was pretty laughable to him. I mean, really, he faced Lucifer himself – how hard could my look really be?

"Like I said, she never blamed you. She tried to call you to tell you. She said she called once and a man answered, and when she asked for you he told her you were on a job and not to call back. She said he scared her."

My dad reacted physically to this bit of info. His eyebrows shsotup and then a deep "V" formed between them. I watched his eyes go darker, almost brown, and his left eye twitched. I could see the muscles in his shoulders raise and he reached out and picked up the picture of mom and him. "What else about that," he asked in a scary-quiet voice. _(I knew right then that my dad was not a yelling dad. I knew if he was quiet and angry I should head for the hills immediately)._

"Well, she said he scared her. He sounded mean; harsh I think was the word. She was almost two months by then and I remember her telling me she was experiencing all kinds of emotions very strongly. She said it was my grandfather, is that true?" I asked.

"Oh, that would have been my dad – asshole that he was," Dad said curtly. "What else?"

I looked down. I felt bad. He handed me a tissue.

"She said she waited and tried again about a week later, and the number you gave her was disconnected. She said she made the choice then and there to have me, regardless." I reached out and grabbed his massive forearm. "It wasn't your fault and she never blamed you for his meanness. She said it made her stronger, Sa – Dad," I finished.

"She was sixteen years old," Dad said plainly. "No sixteen year old girl should have to make those decisions alone. I should have been there. This was one of the reasons why I fought so hard with your grandfather – he needed to control every aspect of your Uncle Dean and my life. Mae, you have to believe me, if I had known I would have been there in an instant. We would have worked something out.

"I believe you," I said, trying to will away the pain I saw in his eyes. I fought the urge to _push_ something into his mind to distract him.

"Oh, you better NOT," he said. _(Can he read my mind?)._

"Are you reading my mind?" I asked him plainly.

"No – not reading it – but I definitely know when you're wanting to use your mojo. I don't know how but I do. We're already linked through blood - I mean, you're half me. But I think we're also somehow connected through our minds. It's why I had to come over that night at the diner. I was compelled to … almost as if I HAD to." He squeezed me tight. "And boy am I ever glad I did."

I was full of warmth coming from him. He seemed genuinely happy to have me, and I felt this happy feeling of warmth because of that. I was just feeling stuff all over the place. I was on feeling overload.

His eyes asked for more. He wanted to know everything.

"Let's see," I said, trying to keep the timeline in my mind. "Aunt Clara was killed just before I was born. Mom said it was a surprise attack and that she was supposed to be home that night, but made a last minute change. She said she came home to it. She fell apart emotionally – she was our last living relative, and mummuh loved her so much." Dad reached up with two tissues and wiped my face.

"Well, thank God she wasn't home or…" he trailed off, lost in his own thoughts. "Did Nia ever say what happened?"

"She said it … it looked like a vampire ambush. I…I guess there was a lot of blood – she was practically drained. Mom never spared me when talking about what kinds of things were out there. She wanted me to know, and she told me my dad was very brave to be going after these monsters and killing them." I looked into his eyes. "She said you were like a firefighter – the one who rushes into the building when everyone else is running out."

Dad took a tissue and wiped his own eyes. "God" was all he said.

"So, Nia told you all about me – did you ever have any feelings about me, or see me in any way?" he prodded.

I shook my head to the negative. "No, not at all. Not until Mummah died. I was twelve – two years ago." Now my hands were shaking, and I could feel that tight weezy feeling in my throat and chest.

Dad got to his feet and pulled me up with him. "Time for a break, don't ya think?" he said in a way that wasn't really a question.

"Yes – yes," I repeated, "I could really go for some…"

"…tea," I finished.

"…food," he said over me.

"You're having food. You can have tea with it, but you're eating."

I sighed, knowing this was not the time for war over edibles. "Sure, – any leftover Chinese in the fridge?" I asked. _(At least I could do with some rice and make him happy.)._

"I think so," he replied, digging through containers. "Aha! Chicken with vegetables – perfect," he said. _(Ugh. I really don't like this side of him at all.)._ I set the kettle on high and waited for it to whistle.

SPNSPNSPN

"You did better this time," he said with a smile. We were back where we began, on the sofa in the living room.

"I tried," I said, forcing a small smile. _(But don't think that's my way every day, Dad.)._

"That's my girl," he said, and I felt that warm fuzzy feeling again. It was the middle of the night by now, but I wanted to finish.

"I began dreaming of you right after mom died. I mean, I could see you. I could see how you hunted. I could see you with Uncle Dean. I could see a lot of things, and I could hear your voice, too."

"Like visions?" Dad asked.

"Noooo… because they were never about the future. Only past stuff. I dreamed of you from the day she died."

"How did it happen?"

"She… she had an aneurism … she was driving. They told me she didn't suffer and it was instant. The car hit a tree."

"And what happened to you, honey? If Nia's Aunt Clara was the only living relative left, what happened to you?" he asked. I could see the urgency in his eyes to know, and I could see the pain he had from not being there for me. I pushed my urge away again.

"Good girl," he said knowingly. _(Wow. This was gonna be harder than I thought. We really were connected. I think I already knew that on some level.)_.

"Mom had a will. She was crazy OCD about stuff like that. Her best friend, my Aunt Christine became my guardian. I inherited everything – it's all in a trust for me until I turn eighteen. I was only able to use it for school and living expenses. And Christine got me a Visa for emergencies. I knew I wanted to go to St. Alphonso's, because I knew if I went there, ummm… you would come."

"But HOW did you know?" he asked, pulling my tired head down onto his chest.

"I just did, Dad. Because of my dreams, and what I could do, I said, stifling a yawn.

"Okay, baby, that's enough. Enough for us tonight for sure. Time for you to get some rest."

And even though I was way too old to get picked up, he still did. I don't even remember being tucked in by him.

SPNSPNSPN

 **SAM'S POV:**

Thoughts and questions swirled in my head, robbing me of the sleep I needed so badly. Why hadn't she been found by heaven or hell? She wasn't warded and had no anti-possession tattoo. Cas didn't know about her, either. Someone had hidden her very well. Who? How could I help her control all these new feelings? Break her need to _push_ into people? How could I be a good dad? How would I keep her safe now that she was with me?

Somehow, in the midst of these thoughts, I drifted off. Dreams of Nia mixed with Maeve, my father, and vampires played a loop in my head.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Finding out more about the mystery behind Maeve's story! Also, a visit with an old friend coming soon! Speaking of friends, please check out Hailstorm3 and her awesome stories. I'm also co-writing the My Reality series with her… check it out! I own nothing Supernatural – thanks so much for reading!

 **Chapter 6:**

I sat across from Dean at the kitchen table – deciding that having Mae sleep as long as she needed would be good for the both of us.

We bantered back and forth over the details of what I learned from Maeve into the early hours of the morning. Dean, as usual, was having a hard time processing that dad had been such an asshole.

"So, you're telling me Nia tried to tell you, but dad shut her down?" he said, repeating my words back to me.

I nodded, still furious. "And when she tried a second time to reach me, he had my fucking number disconnected! Can you believe that shit?" I cannot imagine how afraid and alone she must have felt. How did she do it? She was totally abandoned. Abandoned by me," I added.

"You didn't even know, Sammy! You can't abandon a girl you didn't even know was carrying your bun in her oven!" Then he just shrugged. "That's dad for ya."

I could feel my eye twitch. "You're right. Selfish to the point of leaving his own granddaughter hanging in the wind. The only thing what mattered was what mattered to him. Is that the man mom fell in love with?"

I stole a look at my brother, who was staring back at me with a hard look. Fuck his hard look. I kept going.

"He disgusts me. He kept me from my daughter – from the knowledge she even existed – for fourteen years! Who knows, man? I may have never known, except that she found ME. My fourteen year old daughter had to seek me out. It's embarrassing."

"Dad was dad," Dean said, as if that explained everything.

"NOT enough. Not this time," I spat. "I'm done talking about him keeping Nia and Mae from me. I had a right to know. I had a right to choose," I ground out, ending that part of our conversation.

Dean got up and grabbed the coffee pot, filling our cups again. He put his hand on my shoulder as he sat again next to me.

"So, the million dollar question is – how was she hidden? Who hid her? Heaven and hell never knew of her - nothing and no one knew of her. Do you think they know now?"

All the questions that terrified me and needed answered came tumbling out of my brother's mouth.

"Well, she's warded here. Safe. Cas and Crowley haven't contacted us, so I think so far we're good here. She's a Winchester – we would have heard, that I feel confident of." I blew out a chestful of air. This was crazy.

Dad's journal lay on the table, both of us having read and re-read it from front to back and back to front, looking for clues or initials – anything. There wasn't even anything about the phone calls. He had covered his tracks well. Bastard.

… And then…

A light bulb. "Dean."

A moron. "Sam."

"Wrong journal! We've been looking in the wrong place, dude! Mae said Nia's aunt knew Bobby – shit, it was right in front of me!"

I bolted down the hallway to the library, rummaging through Bobby's plethora of journals in the oak desk where we kept them. I began searching, going back in time with the turn of each page. Back to the summer Mae was conceived.

I found an entry, reading carefully. Nothing out of the ordinary. Sitting, I moved forward through time. Nine months later, May 5th, a single starred sidebar: * Missouri – leaving with JW in AM.

My breath caught in my throat. They both knew Mae was born. Missouri knew as well. I had a thousand questions flood my mind. Had dad kept Nia's number all that time? What the hell was going on here?

Dean walked in, this time carrying two beers. "Find anything?" he asked, probably mostly out of obligation.

"I think I found the start," I answered slowly, wanting to let it sink in before I blurted it out. Dean was already at my back, reading over my shoulder. He put a beer down in front of me.

"Pretty weak," he scoffed.

"Shut up, Dean," I automatically responded. I was skimming the pages as fast as I could; searching for the answer I knew lay in these pages.

And then, in a flurry of Bobby's handwriting, there it was.

"Holy fuck," I managed.

He leaned forward, grabbing the journal. He read through the pages and looked down at me. His face was stone, his eyes dark.

"They knew she was born?"

Pause.

"Blood magic, Sam? What the fuck!" he spat.

I opened my mouth to reply, except I heard my daughter speak from the doorway. She had that just-awakened look on her face, but her eyes were searching mine. I knew she was trying to understand. I braced for what was to come.

She backed up slowly, as if afraid, until she hit the wall, then slid to the hall floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around herself.

"Blood magic? BLOOD? What's that? Those are BAD words to mix, Sa…Dad! MY blood? Yours? Mommas?" She put her head down into her bend arms. I could see her shoulders shaking, either from anger or fear or sadness or some other new emotion that was being forced out of her, through no fault of her own.

Dean's pressed his hand into the middle of my back. "Don't baby her, Sam," he whispered. He turned to her, even though she wasn't looking, and said accusingly, "You shouldn't be sneaking around listening to PRIVATE conversations. Just how long were you snooping?"

She looked up at him, and I could feel her struggling to send him a seed, just a _push_ to move him from the way he was treating her. As if she was guilty of something, when she wasn't.

I moved my shoulders backward, shaking Dean off me, while at the same time moving toward Maeve. She was so small, so full of complicated emotion. I could feel it roiling off of her.

"Mae," I said firmly, "Don't. You. Do. It." I didn't want to be harsh with her, but it was my job to guide her. To keep her safe. And to keep her from scrambling my brother's eggs. "Uncle Dean – he just, well … he's confused, too." I was sitting cross-legged in front of her now, with my hands over hers. I saw my reflection in the gold of her eyes and my heart simultaneously broke for not having her until now, and was elated to see the depth of love she was sending back to me.

"Mae – you trust me, right?" I asked.

"Yes, Daddy, I already told you I do. You should know that from last night," she responded with red-rimmed eyes. _(Daddy? Wow. Now that was a word I never thought I'd be called in my life. I loved it. She was adorable and falling apart in front of me.)_.

I smiled at her and she smiled back at me with her own dimples I had given her. "I need you to listen and try to understand, okay?"

She nodded, all the while sending Dean dark looks across the library.

"Hey – eyes here," I said.

She dragged her eyes from him and I gave her one of my own stern looks that she didn't turn away from. "Sometimes, when someone turns out to not be what they say they are, it can make the person finding out really angry. Sometimes that anger gets… redirected… to someone else – an innocent person, because they just happen to be there, or the person that they're REALLY angry at is gone. Follow me?"

"Umm… I guess so. Maybe?" she answered skeptically.

I frowned at her slightly. "You might want to re-phrase that into the truth," I leveled at her. She wasn't gonna play me. Not ME. I was the only thing keeping her safe and true. I gave her another stern look. "There's a pretty high cost for lying to me, you already know that, honey. And it won't be fun for either of us." I held her gaze. _(Dammit, she held right back.)_.

I raised my voice just a level. "Are you going to answer me honestly. Now."

She finally dropped her eyes _(Stubborn – I was gonna have my hands full!)_.

"Okay, okay – no, I have no clue what you're talking about! I don't "get" all this emotional crap! If you're saying Dean…"

"Uncle Dean," I corrected her.

She scowled at me. "UNCLE Dean, is not really mad at me, and that he's mad at someone else – how is that my fault? Why do I have to understand his issue? He's a grown man! And I want to know what blood magic is! I wasn't snooping or listening in. I was LOOKING for you – and I just heard it coming down the hall. Some people would close the door if they were having such a PRIVATE conversation!" she huffed toward her uncle. She was escalating quickly. I stole a look at Dean and he was pissed, but I think he was pissed because she made sense. I also think he was pissed at how disrespectful she was being.

I groaned internally. Both were true.

"Sam, I swear to God if you don't do something with her..." he started.

I stood up and turned to face my brother. "Stop, Dean. Just… stop. We can talk later after I talk to Mae alone, ok? In the meantime, can you call Missouri and see if we can road trip her way? There's a lot of missing pieces here."

Dean glared at Maeve, but spoke to me. "Yeah, yeah, I'll call her. There's a damn lot of missing pieces and a damn lot my niece needs to learn about respect."

"Okay – let's get to it, then." I gave my brother a look of mixed appreciation and aggravation and walked over to him. I reached in to give him a hug and pulled his ear close to my mouth. "If you ever undermine me in front of her again, we're gonna have a problem. You're scaring her. Knock it the fuck off." I clasped him on the shoulders and looked directly at him, and then I turned and strode over to my daughter.

I reached down and pulled her up to her feet, pressing her close to my side.

"You and I are heading for the kitchen. You can tell me what you're having to eat with your tea."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7:**

A/N: I decided to split this chapter… details to take care of on the home front first, then next chapter, Missouri's. Hope you enjoy! I own nothing Supernatural.

Maeve's POV:

I had to double step to keep up with Dad's regular steps toward the kitchen – he gave me the choice of breakfast or lunch since it was so late in the morning.

I knew he was gonna hate hearing it from me, but the words came out anyhow.

"Just tea."

He didn't stop moving; he just grabbed the kettle and put it on high. _(Phew. I thought THAT was gonna be a problem.)_

Then he spoke.

"Well, you can either choose something to go with or I will. It's up to you. But you're eating," he said turning to face me. "What's it gonna be?"

I looked down at the table, only to see his legs appear next to where I was sitting. "The answer isn't written on the table, Mae." And then he just stood there. Patiently. It was excruciating.

"Ummmm…" I began, pulling my most overused go-to stalling tactic out of my sad and broken tool box of stalling tactics _(I had to get more of those! My dad was just gonna wait me out, or decide for me.)_

He decided for me. _(Shit. Shit. And… shit.)_

Turning around he started pulling items from the fridge.

"Half a Cobb Salad and a BLT it is, then," he stated. He didn't even sound mad. He was just - ugh – the ADULT. _(Oooh I hated this so much!)_

"You set the table and I'll be done in a sec," he directed, looking over at me with a smile. How could I not smile back at him? _(Well played, Dad, well played.)_

We began to eat and he jumped right in. "So, what's up with your little attitude toward Uncle Dean?" he asked.

I pushed my salad away and looked at him. "Me? I'm the one with the attitude?" I said with an attitude.

He pushed my salad back in front of me and pointed to it with a fork. _(The message was clear. Eat the food.)_

I picked around the edges with my fork and sighed. "Dad, I don't know how to do this," I admitted.

"Which thing, honey?" he asked, looking confused.

"ALL of this. All this – eating you do. All this – talking you do. All the – emotion that goes with it. It makes my stomach hurt and then I'm not hungry. I'm used to just, doing things my own way. I woke up feeling sick to my stomach and then Uncle Dean went crazy accusing me of spying!" I added in a whisper, "I know he doesn't like me."

He pulled his chair over next to mine and stopped me from nibbling on a chunk of avocado. "Mae, that's just not true. Uncle Dean loves you – he can just be a little – over reactive. He's worried about you, just like I am. We both are trying to figure out this whole thing and you're just caught in the middle of it."

"He doesn't even talk to me. He thinks you're in over your head with me. I heard him say that. And he called me disrespectful when I was just being honest! He was the one yelling, not me," I countered.

"Point taken, hon. But you reacted badly to it. You yelled back. You should have let me handle it with Uncle Dean, and I would have."

"I guess I'm not used to having anyone handle things for me," I admitted. "Seriously, though, my stomach hurts a lot. And, ummm… My mind races with all these thoughts now I didn't have, you know… before."

I looked at my plate and asked if I could be done now.

Dad shook his head, giving me a firm look. "No, you cannot be done now. I didn't give you all that much to begin with. I'm sorry if it makes you mad, but we're gonna finish our food and conversation."

"I'm not mad, Daddy. I don't know what I am."

"I think you're anxious, and that's totally normal. Me,too! We all are, but we'll figure this out. Anxiety will make your stomach hurt and give you racing thoughts. Let me work on that with you, okay? But those aren't reasons to not eat a normal, healthy diet. You **will** be eating, so get used to it," he said with finality.

"Okay, Dad, I'll try harder," I murmured.

"That's my girl," he said, giving me a kiss on my temple.

I jumped when I heard Uncle Dean's voice behind me.

"Just got off the phone with Missouri – we can basically let her know when we're on our way. She said she was looking forward to seeing all of us – which is weird, cause, I didn't say anything about the Peanut here…"

I took that as my cue. I summoned my courage and stood to face Uncle Dean, hands clasped behind my back to keep myself from fidgeting.

"Uu..Uncle Dean?" I said tentatively.

He looked down at me, the previous anger dissipated, but still giving me a stern look.

"Yes, Peanut? _(I guess he just gave me a nickname. Progress.)_

"I want to say… say… that I'm very sorry for the way I behaved in the hall, and that I hope you can for…for..." I couldn't talk. My mouth had gone totally dry and I reached out a hand toward the table's edge to steady myself.

Uncle Dean stepped quickly forward, balancing me with his hands around my waist. "Whoa, ok, steady there little Peanut, no need to pass out on me. How 'bout you just sit here and … not pass out?" he said, concern in his voice. _(Wow, maybe he did like me after all.)_

I grabbed my tea and drank it all down. _(Why did it feel like my mouth was full of cotton?)_ I heard Dad say something about me having anxiety and not knowing how to deal with it yet.

"Uncle Dean, I hope you can forgive me. I won't behave so emotional and erratic again."

I felt his arms close around me and felt a deep chuckle from his ribs. "A female who isn't emotional and erratic is NOT a female in my book, Peanut. Of course I forgive you, but none of that yelling and attitude, you hear me?"

I hugged him back. "I hear you," I replied. "Now what's blood magic?" I asked again.

SPNSPNSPN

"Let's go chill in the living room and talk," Dad said, diverting my question. "I'll pop a movie in the background."

Uncle Dean grabbed two beers from the fridge and a bottle of orange juice for me as we sat in what I was quickly referring to in my own mind as "The Talking Room."

Dad sat at the end of the couch by the big recliner that Uncle Dean sat in. He put a pillow on his lap and grabbed the afghan and held out his arms to me. _(I could have cried. I mean, it was obvious to me why my mom fell for him.)_ I laid my head on the pillow and he covered me up, tucking the blanket in around me to keep the draft away. He reached my stiff shoulders and started to massage them back down to their proper place _(they were pretty much up around my ears.)_

"Nobody fourteen years old should have these many knots," he complained, finding the little lumps and gently placing pressure until they were gone.

"I didn't forget about the blood magic," I droned in a blissful tone.

"First we have to navigate around a few complications," Uncle Dean said. I tilted my chin up to see him, which Dad immediately tilted back down so he could keep working on my shoulders.

"What kind?" I asked, nervous about what his response would be.

"We need to go see Missouri, but we can't take you outside this bunker until you have some protection."

I felt my shoulders roll back and Dad stopped pressing on them. I sat up and curled into his armpit, snuggling close with worry. He wrapped his arm all the way around me and whispered "Everything will be alright, baby – I promise."

"Please just tell me what you're talking about because I don't think my heart can take much more of this," I blurted. Uncle Dean reached forward and handed me my OJ. "Drink." _(Not a request.)_

"Okay, Peanut, here's what it is. You were protected somehow – we'll find out soon exactly how – and kept off the radar your whole life. Then we find you and bring you here – fully protected and warded against anything heaven, hell, or in between. We have to keep you safe out there, in the outside world."

I could feel tears stinging my eyes and my brain was saying "just breathe" but I knew what was coming next. I looked up into Dad's face and he looked back at me with a small encouraging smile. Dean threw him the tissues and he wiped my cheeks.

"Hey, no… no need to cry about this, right Dean?" Dad murmured to me.

"Nope, Peanut. We're just talking about a small anti-possession tattoo and some sigils carved into your ribs." _(I can't believe he just said that like he was offering me some chips.)_

And I think that's when I started going … hysterical?

"Dad, Dad…. Daddy! I don't want a tattoo – I'm fourteen! I wanted one someday but, like something cool…" I began to shake his shoulders, having crawled straight up into his lap, face to face. "Rib carvings? Are you kidding me? It's painful, right? Oh, it HAS to be so fucking painful! Where do you even GET those? No. Don't tell me. Don't. Please don't." _(I was a babbling mess, there was no way to stop the fear from pouring out of my mouth and I think I was kinda spitting a little too but not on purpose. It might have been the OJ.)_

Dad shifted me to my side like a baby and rocked me, trying to help me get a grip. I saw him glaring at Uncle Dean, but really, I didn't blame him. All he did was answer my question honestly. I respected that. And now it terrified me.

"What, Sammy? She asked me and I told her what she needs to have done. You and I both know we aren't taking any chances with her."

I had slowed my wails to a snot-filled occasional sob, liking the concern I was hearing. "Chances?"

"Blow," Dad said, holding three tissues to my nose. I didn't care – I blew. _(How did he do that without vomiting?)_

"We just want to be sure you're safe and protected. Think of it as extra insurance, right?" Dad looked so sad having to tell me all this that I felt sad for being such a baby.

"It's gonna hurt."

"Yes. But we'll be right there. And when it's over you'll be hidden from all of heaven and hell. A little pain is worth that, hmm?" he asked, pressing his forehead against mine.

"I'm scared, but I'll do it. Can I pick where the tattoo goes?" I asked.

"NO," they both said in unison.

SPNSPNSPN

They decided I would get the sigils first, so I would be hidden - then get the anti-possession tattoo (It was going on the back of my neck so my hair covered it.) I saw some X-rays of what they looked like – tiny runes and weird symbols… I knew about them – I just never expected to be one who had to have them.

I met Castiel. He was so much -better - than I thought he would be. The books were horrible, they portrayed him as a one dimensional flat-line, but he wasn't. He was kind, and yeah, kinda stiff, but when he put his hand on my shoulder and told me he would take care of it all – I felt peaceful. I laid on my bed and Dad held my hand, then Cas put me into his special sleep, so I wouldn't feel anything. When I woke up, Dad said I'd been asleep six hours! I guess those rib carvings need some time to "set". I didn't hurt at all.

Not so lucky with the tattoo. _(I will NEVER get another one.)_ I got it on the way to see Missouri, in a special "hunter shop" – Dad and Uncle Dean literally had to hold me down to finish it. After, Uncle Dean slipped the tattoo guy an extra twenty, just for getting through it! I know I didn't make it easy on them either, but I told them I have a very low threshold of pain. Dad just kept saying "Just a few minutes more" for like, twenty minutes. The back of my neck stung and the guy gave me some special lotion to put on it for the first few weeks.

And they never explained to me what blood magic is. _(Well played again, Dad, but I'll know soon enough.)_

Next stop… Missouri's.


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N:** **I own nothing Supernatural, but this idea is mine**

Chapter 8:

The sign said "Entering Lawrence, Kansas" and I felt my stomach twist in a knot. I was afraid of what I'd find out from Missouri, but I was also curious. I felt like I was simultaneously going to throw up and have a mental breakdown at the same time. My emotions ran like electrical currents just under my skin, and my dad and uncle weren't helping. I knew they were gonna find out when I did. That was scary. I was envisioning Uncle Dean's head just popping off the top of his shoulders, and Dad taking a deep breath and immediately trying to make sense of it all. I was learning quite quickly that there wasn't a lot of "sense" in the Winchester life: There was a lot of denial, alcohol, salad, pie, and love, though.

We pulled in to a simple driveway when dad motioned me forward. I turned my head face down between the two of them from the back seat and he began to rub lotion on the back of my neck to help the tattoo heal.

"All set," Dad said, pushing my hair back into place as I lifted my head.

"Daddy?" I hesitated.

"Mae," he answered, looking solemn and curious.

"Uhhhh…Can I have something for the pain?" I asked, embarrassed.

"Yeah, sure… of course you can, honey. Don't be embarrassed." He reached forward and grabbed the bottle of Advil and gave me two. I looked at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked, looking perplexed.

Uhhh… got anything in there to help me, uhhhh… you know, calm down?" (For some reason I was not at all embarrassed to ask for that.)

He looked amused. "Missouri would knock me straight out."

"So – sorry love, no way. Not before meeting her, and not before she has a chance to meet you. Missouri is – special. Intuitive. She would want your mind clear so she can connect with you."

"What about after?" I asked expectantly.

"We'll deal with over when it's over, how's that? No promises," he said, giving me a wink. I leaned forward and leaned my head on his arm.

"I don't know if I want to know this stuff," I said honestly.

I felt Uncle Dean's hand pat my knee. "We have to, Peanut. It's the only way. We'll deal with whatever we learn; you don't worry about a thing."

"I don't like it," I returned with a caustic look.

SPNSPNSPN

I took Dad's hand on the small porch, shying away a bit behind him. I didn't feel like myself already. No control. He squeezed my hand while Uncle Dean rang the bell.

A wide-eyed African-American woman opened the door and looked at the three of us. I could feel power emanating from her in slow, long rolls as she looked us over. I saw in her eyes years of knowledge that she had no desire to ever have come across. I wanted to know and began to send a seed to her, but she just held up a silver manicured fingernail and said in a slow drawl, "None of that on me, sweet child. We have much ground to cover and any secrets to share."

I looked down, embarrassed and afraid Dad would be mad, but he leaned forward and pulled Missouri into a long embrace, thanking her for seeing us. She rubbed his back in comfort.

"Oh, honey, I've been waiting on this day for years – my stars, yes! The time for the light to be shone into the darkness is here," she smiled.

She looked over at Uncle Dean, who appeared intimidated as well as anxious. I heard dad's voice close to my ear - "Don't you dare send him anything. They have a complex relationship and you're a nosey little thing," but he slid his arm around my shoulder as we were ushered into the entryway.

"Come all the way in, child – my, look at you!" she said to me, placing her calming hands on my shoulders. "Aren't you a tiny little thing for having such a big Daddy! And such a beauty! I can see you have your father's eyes and quite a bit of his special intuition in you as well. Oh, and your mothers wisdom and curiosity for the truth. You also have her strength. Come in, I've made some sandwiches and cookies to fill you up after your drive." She held her hand out to me and I took it, covering our shake with my other hand as well for some reason. She was the one, I knew it. My fear began to ebb, but it didn't disappear.

Uncle Dean piped up, "We appreciate your hospitality, but we're here for missing information, not lunch."

Dad glared at him and I felt a sure of anger I sent his way.

Missouri didn't need our help. "Boy, you best sit your bottom down in that chair and make yourself up a plate. Nobody pushes Missouri Mosely before she is ready – and this little one looks like she needs as much meat on her bones as she can get!" Dean sat and began to make a plate (to my astonishment), murmuring a "Thank you, ma'am" to her and filling his mouth before it could get him any further on her bad side.

Dad placed a whole sandwich on my plate, which I gave him my most pleading look to remove half. He ignored me and asked Missouri if she would like some tea - "It's Maeve's favorite."

"Why, Sam, don't you think I know that? I have just the special blend for her – been saving the recipe for it for years. How 'bout we all have ourselves a nice lunch, and there are cookies for dessert," she said, smiling at me.

"I feel like I know you," I said to her eyes on my stupid sandwich.

"Child, you DO know me. We were well met once. And we are well met again," she added as she kissed me on the forehead." She tapped my nose and admonished me, saying "you need to listen up to your daddy when it comes to your eating habits, so you finish up that sandwich and have some tea with your cookies. Then we'll begin. All will be revealed, finally."

Dad gave me a "told ya so" look at my plate, and then began scarfing down his lunch. Uncle Dean let out a moan of pleasure followed by "Missouri, you make the perfect sandwich. I love how you get the mayo right out to the edges." She smiled and put her hand on the side of his head. "I've missed you, too, Dean."

SPNSPNSPN

After we finished eating, Missouri ushered us into a cozy room with a long, overstuffed sofa and plush fuzzy blankets tossed across the back. One wall was a total bookshelf, filled with books of all shapes and sizes. Twinkling lights danced across the shelves and down the sides, giving it an inviting vibe that made the room appear even warmer, if that were possible. A hexagon coffee table with ornate carvings was placed diagonally across the floor space, and on the other side two identical recliners sat facing the table and sofa.

"What's that smell, Missouri?" I asked, not feeling the least bit inhibited. I felt like I could ask her anything.

"That's sage, honey. It's used for clarification and cleansing. Do you like it?" she asked softly.

I nodded. "It smells like …uhhh…. Like, safety," I said, even though I knew that didn't make much sense.

A smile illuminated her face and she took my hand. "That's exactly what it is, child. Now, you come sit on the sofa between your daddy and me, and your Uncle Dean will sit across from us."

Uncle Dean didn't look too thrilled to not be sitting on the couch, but he nodded his head in the affirmative, while Dad, Missouri, and I sunk in to the cushions of the sofa. Dad took my hand and Missouri took my other, and I realized in that moment that nothing would ever be the same for me after today. Not for any of us. The secrets of my life were about to be revealed, and I felt my heart begin to race.

"There's no need for fear, Mae. You've all come for answers and now you will have them, see?" She brushed my hair back from my face and ran her hand down my arm. "Calm" was all she said.

Uncle Dean was vigilant, watching as we sat, preparing to listen to every word spoken. I understood somehow that Missouri had placed him across from us deliberately, as a silent sentry and a witness to what was to be said between us.

Missouri turned her attention to Dad – "Sam. We are well met. Please, would you like me to tell you her story or would you rather ask?"

Dad's face clouded with thought.

"I think I'd like to hear her story and then, if alright with you, ask questions – if that suits you."

"Suits me fine, honey – so settle in…

… "Your father was a stubborn man, as you both well know," she said looking at both Dad and Uncle Dean. He came to me in the late spring in the late '90's, confiding that you had met a girl over the previous summer while doing a job with your Uncle Bobby. This girl had been trying to reach you for weeks, until finally he scared her away and disconnected your phone."

She looked sadly at Dad. "You see, Sam, your father was not fool, and he knew there were very few reasons why a girl would so adamantly pursue speaking to you, and he wasn't about to let anything stand in the way of the path he had chosen for you and your brother."

Dad's face was pale. "He had no right."

"Since when did rights have anything to do with what your father determined was his business?" she asked knowingly.

"What did he want? Didn't he care about me? He didn't want my dad to even know I existed? What did I ever do to him? My mom," I choked out, "She…she never did anything to him and he scared her away!"

Missouri's hands reached out and held my hand in both of hers. "I know this is hard to understand, baby, but your grandfather… well, he was a man obsessed. Now you listen close, ya hear? He DID care, which is why he came to me. He had your Dad's Uncle Bobby keep tabs on Nia, throughout her pregnancy. Your mother was warded and kept safe. I placed a hedge of protection over her and you, the tiny baby inside of her. Your Mama also needed special incantations – her emotions took the best of her sometimes, and she would cry and fall into periods of dark sadness at the loss of your Daddy, and at the thought of you never knowing the one she loved so dearly."

Uncle Dean was leaning forward, soaking in every word Missouri spoke, every movement she made. Dad was squeezing my hand and releasing it, like a heartbeat. I stole a look and saw tears sliding down the outside corners of his eyes.

"Dad… Daddy please… don't be sad… I DO know you… Please, please don't let me be the reason you're sad," I said, before I began crying.

He pulled my hand up to mouth and kissed it. "Never. Never, baby. This is just… a lot. Are you okay?" he asked suddenly, concerned I may be heading for a meltdown.

I looked at Missouri, then over to Uncle Dean and back at him and said, "I'm okay so far, if you are."

"I'm sorry, Missouri," Dad breathed. "Please, continue."

Missouri gave him a smile that told him there was no apology necessary.

"Where was I, now? Oh, yes… the incantations and protection spells worked, but only within the first 24 hours after Maeve was born. John and Bobby knew she would be born very close to your own birth date, Sam, so they persuaded me to elicit very special favor – for you and for Mae."

"Knowing that a new Winchester birth would put not only mother and child in mortal danger, but also himself and both of his boys, they convinced me to visit Madame Vicaree', a high Voodoo Priestess hidden off in the swamps of the Louisiana bayou. Ohhhh, child, if that didn't scare the bejesus outta me!"

"The legend is she moved between our plane and the netherworld, carrying messages and curses and cures to those whom she deemed deserving as such. She was neither of here nor of there, but of some space in between, and through this space was which she travelled. You were to never look Madame in the eye, or your soul would forever be cast into the Far Beyond – an empty time and space before even the Beginning."

"Were you able to find her?" Uncle Dean asked, green eyes deep with curiosity of this Voodoo Priestess he had no knowledge of. Deep lines creased his forehead as he concentrated on her every word.

Missouri sent Dean a look, and then cast her eyes to Sam and Mae. Sam had moved his arm around her, still holding her hand, and she had pulled herself over half onto his lap, pressing herself against his side and fitting tightly under his shoulder. She looked utterly terrified but did not speak a word. He would take a tissue and occasionally wipe under her eyes with his opposite hand. He looked over at Missouri and nodded for her to continue.

"Is the child able to finish, Sam?" she asked with concern.

"Yes, Missouri, please – we have to know. I have her," he answered with a wan smile.

"After many cycles of the moon and the tributes I had collected to present to her, I was sent through the swamp on a boat commandeered by nothing I've seen in this world or ever again in this world… taken to a small parch of mossy ground with no more than a one room shack erected on it. The boney finger pointed me off and to the doorway, which I followed, but honey, I was shaking all the way! Oh! How the wind blew inside that shanty, yet no breeze upon me before I entered or after I left."

I couldn't hold in a small whine that escaped my throat. Dad brought our hands up to his chest and kissed my temple. In my ear he whispered, "My brave girl, shhh, we're almost there."

Missouri continued. "I didn't see flesh, but I felt a presence, more powerful than any I had ever experienced. I fell forward, prostrate before her -it – offering my tribute in exchange for what I came for… a special spell. True magic – sealed in blood and irreversible. I dared not look up for fear of being cast into the Far Beyond."

And then she spoke to me, but not with a voice. She spoke in my mind – searing her intentions that to this day I have never forgotten.

"I see you clearly, Missouri Mosely," she burned into my mind. "I find favor with you. I accept your tributes and shall gift you with the dark magik you desire for another's protection, with one condition. On the day when her father is compelled to her and recognizes that she is his true blood, this blood magik will then cease – the spell broken, and from that day forth she will be under the care and protection of her father and his bloodline. DO YOU HEAR ME FAIRLY, MISSOURI MOSELY?" she shrieked through the wind whipping around me. Only then did I speak, and only one word, over and over "Mercy – Mercy – Mercy," I cried as I turned and fled, sliding on the moss into the boat as the ingredients of the blood magik spell to protect Mae was seared into my mind forever."

I had curled into Dad's lap fully now and felt both of his arms surrounding me. I could hear his heart beating as he moved his knees slightly to comfort me.

"You with me, Mae? Hmmm? Can you turn and sit forward for me?" he asked.

I turned forward, then sideways, and reached out to Missouri – the woman who saved me. SHE went for me. SHE endured for me. I smiled through my fear and watched her lift and part her hair. A long grey streak ran in a jagged line down from the crown of her head to the end of her hairline.

"When I returned to the mainland, I found this – my permanent reminder for those times I would want to pretend that it never happened. Oh, my stars, and there were many times I wanted to do just that! But it could not be denied."

"How did you do it?" I asked, wanting more than ever to finish this story and know the truth of my life.

"Oh, honey – Sam? Do you want me to go to the end?" Missouri asked.

"To the end, to the very end," Dad said evenly, holding me tightly, my back against his front. "You getting this, Dean?" he asked my uncle.

"Oh yeah, I am," he answered, still concentrating.

"Your father and Uncle Bobby made sure to be near the area the closer Nia's due date arrived. Small hunts, that sort of thing. On the day her water broke, Clara called Bobby and they came straightaway. I had long since given the incantation and ingredients to them, but John insisted on one addition that I fought against. He wanted an emotion block, convinced that if she was born with Sam's abilities, the magic itself would not hold as her emotions grew and combined with his abilities. He convinced us it was to keep her safe, even if it would keep her from ever feeling an emotion unless her father found her and the blood magic was broken. Sam would then have to take the responsibility of the spell and his addition, and deal with it on his own."

"When Mae was born, the blood from her umbilical cord was taken, along with both her mother and father's blood and hair, and mixed with the ingredients from Madame Vicaree'… this was used to bathe the babe in immediately after delivery, three times, as the incantation was recited and the blood magik enveloped her. This was the protection she had until the day Sam found her in the diner, and was compelled to speak with her and it was broken. This is why you have never felt emotion, child."

… To Be Continued…


	9. Chapter 9

A/N: Thank you for reading. I'm sorry it's taken so long to get back to Mae, but here we are. I adore this story. I appreciate all your thoughts!

Chapter 9:

I sat there, stunned. It was almost too much to take in. Blood magic was used on me – I was bathed in blood. I know it was to protect me, but the image of me as a baby, covered in my parent's blood – It made me heart race… and I said two things.

"My grandfather saved me, and ruined me…"

And

… "I'm very bad."

Missouri ran her hand down my arm, closing her eyes and softly murmuring sentences. She was nice, well-meaning and powerful. I waited for her to stop out of respect. I reached out and took her hand calmly, even though my heart was pounding out of my chest.

"Thank you, Miss Missouri, for keeping me safe, even at your own risk. I can never thank you enough. You met my mama, and I know you helped her and I and it must have been hard to keep this from my daddy. Hard to carry it around inside you." I leaned in and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Then I turned to my dad.

"I want to go home now, please," I said dully. (But my heart – racing – what's wrong with me?)

He looked at me, confused. "Honey, let's take some time to let this all settle in. Maybe you and I take a walk over to that park we passed down the street." He smiled so sweetly at me. (He was hearing me but he wasn't LISTENING to me.)

I got up off the couch and stood behind the chair Uncle Dean was sitting in, my hand pressing in on my chest. I felt my words twist an octave as I looked at him.

"I don't want to go for a walk, Sam. I want to go home. Take me home. Take me home. Do you hear me? I want to go HOME!"

Suddenly I was surrounded by the three of them. Dad took me by the arm, eyes curious with an edge of anger. "My name is Dad or Daddy to you. You do not address me as Sam, do YOU hear ME?" he stated, boring a hole into my eyes until I dropped them for a moment.

"Okay, _Daddy_ ," I said, voice full of sarcasm I was finally able to unleash. My mind swirled with emotion, thoughts, and memories – a carnival of the macabre that centered on me. My heart continued to press mercilessly against my chest, a hummingbird at its feeder. I saw my bloody baby form, over and over…

Dean looked over to Missouri for some kind of answer. She shook her head and put her hands on my temples. I felt her… inside. She felt like warmed oil inside my head, winding through my thoughts. Just as quickly, I was empty of her.

"Boys, let's sit her down in this chair for a moment, how's that, sweetheart?" she said to me. I let her guide me to where Uncle Dean had been sitting. Over and over I was saying "Take me home, Dad– I want to go home right now. I want to go. I'm leaving. I'm moving on."

I heard every word Missouri said – she wasn't trying to hide from me. God, I appreciated and kinda loved her for that.

"Now you two listen closely to me, ya hear? This little girl is terrified out of her mind. I seen it inside her thoughts – she's having some type of … episode … visions and memories and emotions she has never felt and has no control whatsoever over. Take this girl home and tend to her, ya hear me? You call me later and let me know how she is, and we'll be seein' each other again soon enough."

Dad was not moving. Uncle Dean was deep in thought. I tried to push to them both and Daddy bolted to my chair and pulled me up in his arms. "You stop that right now," he hissed in my ear, furious. "We are leaving. I'm gonna teach you how to control that impulse of yours when we get home." He hitched me up on his hips, pressing my head down on his chest. "You keep your head right there, understand? Close your eyes. Rest. Slow your breathing."

He turned to Uncle Dean and Missouri. "I'm taking her out. Dean, I'll be in the back with her." I heard the keys being caught behind my right ear. "Missouri," he said, his voice starting to choke up…

"I know honey… You're so very welcome, my dearest. It was my honor to have a part in protecting your little one." I smelled her Missouri smell, vanilla and sugar, as she kissed me and my dad as we went out the door. I couldn't raise my head – Dad's hand was still pressing it against him.

The wind gusted in the dark, hitting me by surprise. "Cold, Dad. So cold. Ice. I'm dying. I'm a bloody baby. Daddy," I whispered against him.

"Shhh…hush, you. You're good, I'll have you warm in a minute. I won't let you die. I won't let anything happen to you. You're my girl, my baby girl still… You are not a bloody baby, you are MY baby. Now hush," he finished.

He put me in the back of Baby and blasted the heater. He quickly grabbed A blanket from the trunk and stretched out in the back seat, pulling me up aside his frame, tucking the blanket in tightly and keeping his hand on my head against his chest.

I heard Uncle Dean sit down to drive and smelled Missouri's cookies. I heard a bag crumpling where my Dad usually sat.

Dad pulled my hair back, peering down at me with worry. "Baby. Your heart is beating way too fast. I want you to breathe in when I do, and breathe out when I do. Do you hear me? Nod if you hear me."

I nodded.

The rhythm of Baby lulled me to sleep, where I dreamed I was a little girl again, living Mama – no bloody spells or dark magik inside or around me.

SPNSPNSPN

It was the middle of the night when I woke up. I was confused. This wasn't my house. Where were my things? I really had to go potty but I was ascared. Where was my night light and my lovey I slept with? I sat up in the bed and did the only thing I could do.

"MAMA!" I screamed as loud as I could. "MOMMY, where are you?"

I heard running down the hall and the door opened, but it wasn't my mommy at all there. It was a tall man with his hair sticking out all over, and he rushed over to my bed and sat beside me, reaching out to try to hold me. I shrunk back as far as I could into the pillow and scrunched up into a ball. His face made a frown and pulled his arms back slowly, looking at me funny. He looked like someone mommy showed me all the time in a picture, but he looked a lot older. He looked like my daddy, but he couldn't be. Mommy told me daddy was gone and he probably would never ever come back. Mommy cried a lot about that.

"Maeve? Honey … what's the matter? Did you have a bad dream?" the man asked. (Was he my daddy?)

I started to cry. "Where's my mommy? I want my mama!" I wailed. I pulled my thumb up to my mouth and started to suck on it, then pulled it out quickly. Mommy said I was too old for thumb-sucking and it would ruin my teeth.

The man tilted his head and really looked at me.

"Mae – how old are you?" he asked, never taking his eyes off mine.

"I three!" I said, holding up my fingers to show him. "Mister, where my mommy at? Where my stuff?"

"Ohhhh….okay, okay…Ummmm…. Don't be scared, okay? Are you a brave girl?" he asked, smiling at me. He was nice. He looked just like that picture, with those deep hole things on his face when he smiled at me.

I nodded my head profusely, smiling back at him.

"Okay, honey, listen – mommy had to go … on a trip. And she wanted me to keep you with me while she is gone, even though you don't know me, I promise you don't have to be scared or worried or anything. I'll take care of you, okay? Can I hold your hand?"

I nodded yes and put my hand into his great big one.

"Are you a giant?" I asked him seriously.

He smiled again and said "I think I must look like one to you, hmm? No, sweetie, I'm very tall. I'm all grown up and someday you'll grow up too."

I sat up on the bed, kneeling in front of his frame sitting in front of me. I took my hands and put them on his cheeks, running my hands up and down his face, feeling his forehead and down to his chin. He was grinning.

"What're you doing, you little goofball?" he asked.

"I have a secret. Ya wanna know it, even though I'm not supposed to tell?"

"Oh, you can tell me anything," he assured me with a very serious face.

"My mommy has a picture and it's you and her. She shows me every day," I whispered in his ear.

"Well, that's nice," he said evenly. "Do you like the picture?"

"Yes!" I said, pulling back and using my big girl voice.

"Why do you like it so much, Mae?" he asked, dropping his chin to my level.

"Because she tells me stories about him. She tells me how brave he is. She says he is the bravest, mostest wonderful person she knows and she loves him so much!" I leaned forward and cupped his ear. "She says he is my daddy and he loves me very much. Are you my daddy?" I whispered.

He picked me up gently and sat me aside his lap and put an arm around me. "Yes, Maeve, yes I am your daddy. Does that make you happy?"

"Daddy? My daddy for really-real?" I questioned.

"For really-real," he said back to me, and then he kissed me on the forehead.

"But I miss mommy," I said. "When will she be back?" I started bouncing around a little on his lap.

He eyed me knowingly. "Mae, do you have to go to the bathroom?" he asked. "No," I lied. I was afraid of this big place. I didn't want to go alone.

"Well, how 'bout this? I kinda have to go and it's a little scary and big here. Maybe we could both go together and you could at least try. For me," he added.

I put my finger on my chin, thinking.

"Okay, daddy. We go together and I try for you."

"Do you know how to go all by yourself?" he asked.

"Daddy! I a big girl – three," I said, holding up my fingers again. "I not a baby!" I scowled.

He laughed and picked me up. "The floors are cold so I'll carry you and wait outside while you go," he said. "Thank you for being so brave, my sweet girl," he said, hugging me tight.

"It okay, daddy – you no be scared, I stay with you, too," I said confidently.

SAMS POV:

I carried her to the bathroom, mulling over her behavior, studying her. She obviously was having some kind of coping regression deal from the information we found out from Missouri. Should I really be this surprised? It was a lot for ME to take in. I thought about how she clung to me in the back of Baby, hyperventilating, rambling on about being a "bloody baby" and "wanting to go home" and "moving on." I decided to do some research, but I already had an inkling that Mae's way of "moving on" was "going back". She just wanted to go back to when it as just her and her Mama, oblivious to all that went into keeping her protected and safe over the years, with no emotions to manage. If only I had stopped to see Mia, even once, I would have known. It would have changed all of our lives, but nothing gets in the way of John Winchester's plans. I gave him a grudging thought of gratitude for the spell that kept her safe, but it ended there. With dad, the spell served him as well as it did the whole situation. It made me sick.

Now I have my daughter who has pushed herself back in time to what she believes is an easier place. But was it? She had never lived her life with emotions – she had never processed love, sadness, pure joy – she was totally innocent to the havoc emotions wreck on a soul. My poor girl.

I would take care of her the best I could today with Dean's help, and get on the phone to Missouri first, even though we just saw her yesterday, she probably already knew something was up. She did say we'd be talking very soon. Jody probably had contacts I could reach out for guidance on how to navigate this in the best way for her psychologically. So, I was starting with a three year old, no idea how long she would stay that way and no idea how to tell her that her mother wasn't coming back. I needed my laptop and my phone…

"Hi," a little voice trilled behind me. I turned and smiled down at her.

"Hi, yourself, honey. Did you wash your hands?" I asked. Her shirt was half tucked into her pajama bottoms and there was a piece of toilet paper stuck to her left foot – I had to smile.

"Why you laugh, Daddy? I funny?" she asked, turning her hands palms up in question.

"Yeah, you VERY funny right now," I said, reaching for her. She was light as a feather, reminding me that I could totally rebuild her eating habits. There was a silver lining. I pulled the bath tissue off her foot and tossed it in the trash.

"Yucky," she said, making a face.

I nodded. "Super yucky. Let's go wash those feet and find you some daytime clothes, okay? Then Daddy will make breakfast for you and Uncle Dean."

"Unca' Deeen?" she asked, "Who Unca' Dean is?"

I pulled two outfits out for her to choose from. "Can you dress yourself?" I asked, hoping for the best.

She gave me a "pffft" face. "I dress – turn awound," she ordered, twirling her finger at me to face backwards.

"But it's okay if you need help," I reassured her. I heard her struggling, but not giving up – there's the Winchester in her! Finally she said, "Okay Daddy, I done!"

She was so proud - I didn't have the heart to tell her her shirt was on inside out. I'd fix it later. "Awesome!" I praised, reaching for her hand. "Now let's go in the kitchen and make some breakfast."

"Me no eat breakfast, Daddy," she stated. "Ever," she nodded solemnly.

I swung her up on my hip, looking at the brownish green eyes I had given her and said firmly, "But you do! You just don't remember yet!"


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: I own nothing Supernatural. Here's some more Maeve/Daddy Sam! Thanks for all the comments and for reading.

Chapter 10:

 **SAM:**

I sat Mae in the kitchen and started making some breakfast. I had given her some juice and she was being pretty quiet for now.

"I'm making French toast for us – do you want some bacon, too?" I asked her without turning around.

"No like that, Daddy. Yuky! No want any! Like juice," she said with certainty. I smiled, even though she couldn't see it.

I flipped over the bread in the pan, wondering why I was being such a stickler about her eating breakfast. Was it really such a big deal? I turned off the burner and turned around…

… to find her staring at me. She was so adorable. "Super yucky, Daddy, wite?" she said, shrugging her shoulders and twisting her hands in a "don't you agree with me?" gesture.

"Yeah, honey – it's…" I stopped mid-sentence and thought for a second. I didn't agree with that. What was I saying? What the hell? Why did … Oh my God! My head was buzzing lightly. My daughter with a three year old mindset was trying to push me! Manipulate me into agreeing with her that breakfast wasn't what I wanted her to have. That little shit! All with a smile on her face.

"Hey," I said warningly, reaching across and taking her firmly by the shoulders. "Just what do you think you're doing to Daddy, hmmm?"

Her eyes that matched mine - met mine, no fear.

"I helpin' you, Daddy. I help you no like, either. You say icky, wite?"

I picked her up and set her on my lap, giving her my sternest look. "You stop what you're doing right now, young lady. Daddy is _your_ Daddy and he doesn't need your help. Daddy knows what _you_ need, and Daddy knows what you're trying to do to make him agree with you, and I'm telling you to stop, do you understand me?" I curved my arm around her and gave her the smallest shake. "Daddy wants an answer, Missy."

She looked at me. I watched it change from curiosity to realization.

"Daddy know what I doin'?" She looked shocked, like I stole her secret, because I had.

I nodded. "Yes, Daddy knows what you're doing, and you will _**stop**_ this instant."

She frowned at me. She tried to wiggle out of my arms. She kicked and struggled, but I didn't budge. She finally gave up. "Shh…Mae, it's okay. Everything is okay. Relax… Daddy has you; he won't let anything bad happen," I reassuring her the best I could. I didn't get the Daddy Handbook, so I was fairly winging it.

"You make me stop? I bad?" she asked, searching my face for the truth.

I kissed her forehead and held her against my chest. "No, honey. No, no, no – you're not bad at all! You can stop all by yourself. Daddy could stop you but he wants you to learn yourself. Daddy will help remind you, because he can feel it when you do it, okay? Only Daddy knows, nobody else. You don't do that thing anymore with your mind – you have to listen to me, and you have to tell Daddy how you feel, okay? You don't try to help people change their minds any more – you use your words and tell me how you feel about things. No matter how much you feel them, it's okay. Do you understand?"

"I no do that any more now, wite, Daddy? I say my words to you instead?" she asked.

"Exactly," I said. I raised my eyebrows and added, "And Daddy will know if you try not using your words. And Daddy will be very disappointed and very unhappy with you. Then you will have a punishment, and Daddy doesn't want to do that, ok?"

"Wike a time out?" she pressed.

"Yes, like a time out, or … Daddy will figure it out," I said, flustered. "So, it's very important that you behave and obey me, my little one. You can do that – I know you can," I said, snuggling her in tight. She may have been fourteen years old, but she wasn't inside her head yet, so I decided to soak in all the cuddles I could from her. I missed out on so much. Maybe this was a blessing in disguise.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Mae?" I answered.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, honey," I said, trying to be patient. I was picking up a little bit of a fear vibe from her. "Don't be afraid, tell Daddy," I said.

"Daddy, me no like bweakfast. Me no wanna eat it. Me say no," she finally said. I think she thought just using her words would get her her own way – a true Winchester!

"And why not?" I asked, genuinely interested in where this not eating breakfast thing came from.

"Cause Mommy no like bweakfast – me like my mommy," she said in a proud little voice.

I remembered. It was one of the few things Mia and I went around and around about. She wouldn't eat until, well, she felt hungry, or was beyond hungry. Sometimes she would get dizzy because she didn't eat regularly. I would make her eat fruit – make her smoothies – telling her not to wait until she was hungry, because her body needed the fuel, if only for all the sex we were having! That always made her blush and giggle. She would finally eat the fruit and drink the drinks I gave her, then, saying it was _"for the sake of our relationship."_ I had totally forgotten.

I stroked her cheek for a second, thinking.

"Did you know Daddy helped Mommy learn to eat breakfast?" I asked, still stroking her cheek.

She opened her eyes wide. "Nuh-uh," she said. The look on her face was priceless.

"Yep, I did. And she _liked_ it! Yes, she did!" I said, standing up with her and giving her a spin. Her laughter was like a sparkler being shaken in the air.

"Me don't know, Daddy," she said, grinning.

"It's okay to not know for sure, and Daddy is very proud you are using your words to tell me how you feel. Let's try just a little bit of fruit today, good idea?"

"Just a widdle, Daddy, k?" she answered.

Oh my God. Adorable. I had a chance here. A real shot at being a dad. It may be a speed course, but I'd take it. I could help her, and she would use her emotions and learn the right way, if I didn't screw it up too much. Please, please God, don't let me screw this up.

"Okay, lovey, just a little. My good girl!" I praised.

"Daddy?"

Oh my God, another question!

"Yes, honey?"

"When my Mommy come back?" she said.

On the heels of that, I heard:

"What the hell's going on, Sammy? And where's the coffee?" Dean asked testily.

Which question to answer first? I sighed. I didn't want to answer either one.


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Here's a little bit of Daddy Sam – learning how to do it with Maeve. Hope you enjoy! Review if you feel inclined! I appreciate you.**

Chapter 11:

Sam:

I slipped Mae over to sit next to me. I kept my hand on her forearm to keep her comforted – I could probably close my hand and slide it all the way up to her armpit. Dean looked a little frightful, and the level of his voice was scaring her – I could tell. His robe was askew, and there was no coffee. He wore a scowl began sputtering again.

"Sammy – what the hell?"

Where did I start? I felt Mae's arm muscles tense all the way from her fingertips to her shoulder. I was about calm her down, when:

"YOU no yell at MY Daddy! MY Daddy helpin' me make some liddle bit of fwoot! You no yell any more times at him!"

Oh, I felt it. I felt her release that idea and image of him not yelling at me. I could see what she saw. She was not a happy little camper with the way Dean was giving me shit.

"Maeeeeee…" I said, warning, giving her my "I'm the Daddy" look. I was new at it, but I hoped that's what it looked like, and not "Keep Going Girl".

She looked up at me, and God, it was so pure. "He no yell at my brave Daddy," she said determinedly. She had a hard look in her eye and I went into a parental mode I didn't even know I had!

I pulled her up and gave her a smack on her butt. I hadn't thrown a spank in … a very long time, and I pulled back my force at the last minute. At the same time I had her ear next to my mouth. "Your daddy said no. No means no. Understand me?"

"Owwwwww – Daddy – you hurt my bum-bum! Me no like you, Daddy! Me no like HIM," she cried, point at her uncle. "I wannnnt my MAMA!" she wailed, as she put her head in my lap and sobbed like the three year old she believed she was.

I looked at Dean, who was looking even more confused. I put my hand on Mae's head and stoked her hair while I spoke. Poor little girl.

"Dean. Can you just go get dressed and pick up some coffee while I take care of this? I promise I'll explain everything when you get back. Grab some fruit too if you can."

He just looked at me, nodded, and muttered something about coffee not being so great anyhow. She was powerful. Man, I was gonna have to make a plan and make it fast. Dean without coffee? No thank you.

SPNSPNSPN

As soon as Dean was out the door, I lifted Mae's head up and tried to sit her on my lap, but she wasn't having any of it. She was such a stubborn little spitfire! She kept hiding her head, turning and squirming back and forth, until I just lifted her up under her knees and plunked her down to face me. I held the sides of her cheeks so she would look at me.

"No," she said.

"Yes."

"You no look at me, Daddy. Me so bad! Me was so mad at Monkey Dean!"

I was totally confused. "Monkey?"

She huffed out, throwing her palms up in the air, "You know, Monkey Dean!"

I pulled her into me to cover my silent laughter. "Honey, it's UNCLE Dean, can you say Uncle Dean?" I asked, pulling her back and looking into her brown eyes.

"Monka Dean, see? Right? I not a baby!" she said, giving me a sassy look.

That got my attention. No way was I raising a smart mouthed brat who thought she could push me around.

"Mae, remember when daddy made your bum sting?"

"Yes, Daddy. You no nice to me! You no do that!" I felt a buzzing in my head and blocked her. I picked her up again and gave her another swat on her behind.

"And YOU no do that, missy – how many times do I have to tell you? Do you want a stingy bum every day? Hmmm? Answer Daddy."

She glared at me, face puffed out and bright red from trying to push past my block. She was strong but no match for me. Thank God I had some time to teach her not to use it, or she could become stronger. She was strong enough to get us to Supernatural the Musical. I would not let that happen with her.

"You no let me do what I want! My Momma let me do it! My Momma eat no fruit! You a mean Daddy to me!" Oh my God, she was adorable. Fiesty. Indignant and absolutely convinced.

"Well, Daddy will decide when your bum gets a sting, understand? And Daddy will make the rules about that. Now we need to talk about those rules, and you must follow them or you will have a sting there, okay? That is not being mean, that is being a good Daddy and what good Daddies do."

She stared at me, assessing me. Just like I would. I could see her thinking. Wheels turning. She put her hands on my cheeks. She didn't push herself into my head, but she did give me a strong Winchester assessment.

"Daddy?"

"Right here, Mae."

"DADDY."

"Yes, Maeve, I'm listening to you. What do you need?"

"You a good brave Daddy, and Mae listen to you and try so hard, okay Daddy?" she said.

"That's my girl," I said, holding her against me, tying to absorb some of her anxiety and fear. She was shaking.

"Daddy, my Momma no coming back to me, huh Daddy? Right? My Momma gone far far away." Big tears, real tears began to fall from her eyes and drop across my shirt. I hated this. I hated telling her. It wasn't fair. Why did she have to suffer twice? I wiped across her face with my hands.

"Mae, I want you to listen very closely to Daddy, yes?"

"Y-y-e-sss, Da-aady," she choked out in her little voice.

"Honey, your Momma loved you so much, that her love is right here in this room with us, did you know that? Did you? Nothing can keep love away. Yes, Mae – your Momma's body isn't with us anymore, but I'm here. And Uncle Dean. I promise to help keep Momma with us every day, baby."

Now she had her arms around my neck and I had to get up and walk with her. She wrapped her legs around my waist and just cried and cried the way only little girls can cry. Her heart was breaking and so was mine. It amazed me that she was fourteen and had regressed to this age. It scared me and it gave me hope for her. I walked her up and down the hall until her I could feel her breath steady on my neck, then I laid her down on my bed, putting the picture of her mom and me next to her. I left the door open and came back to the kitchen, where I found Dean unpacking a bag of groceries.

"Dean, I'll make the coffee. We need to sit and talk."

He looked at me, still a little glazed, and said, "I'm really not feeling like coffee today. We got any tea?"

I wanted to laugh, but it really wasn't funny. She still planted an image that lasted longer than I thought it would. My brother loves coffee and women and beer. Not necessarily in that order.

"Trust me, you love coffee and you're gonna need it."

Five minutes later we were sitting at the table, cups in hand, eating donuts.

"Listen dude, we have to be as quick as we can because I don't know how long a three year old sleeps," I said with some trepidation.

Dean took a long sip. "We don't have a three year old. We have a fourteen year old. And man, Sammy, I do love coffee."

"Yes you do. And we have a three year old trapped in a fourteen year old body right now. Believe it. Believe it like I told you that you love coffee. I need help, man."

Dean leaned forward and finished his donut in three bites. "Tell me everything I missed," he said.


End file.
